Sic Itur ad Astra
by YourChariotAwaits
Summary: When Shamira El-Amin's uncle, Muhammad Avdol, asks her to join the Crusaders on their journey to Egypt to find and stop Dio, she is more than willing to help. Armed with a Polaroid 600, a Stand whose armor cannot be broken, and enough spunk to give the guys' a headache, Shamira is in for such a life-changing journey that it could only be described as a bizarre adventure.
1. Starkness of the Dawn

_**A/N; Hello there!**_

 _ **This is officially the first time I have ever attempted to write fanfiction, so uh, there's that? Hopefully those of you who take the time to read it will like it, because I certainly enjoyed writing it. I appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism, as this is largely a way for me to try and improve my overall writing, but please, no needless hate, yeah?**_

 _ **Don't be a dick.**_

 _ **Also, fair warning, I swear quite a bit, and this is obvious in what I write. So if that isn't your thing, or you don't like it, tough shit. I won't censor myself.**_

 _ **Enjoy~!**_

* * *

Shamira wakes up to the blaring ring of a landline, and it's enough to send her tumbling out of her bed in fright. She hits the floor, hard, and lets loose a string of curses as pain blossoms across the back of her skull. Her Stand's response is instantaneous, manifesting in less than half a second and positioning itself over her small form, like a parent shields their child, and its wings flare out not unlike a threat display. Shamira groans as the ringing continues.

"Relax, Rose Watcher," she mutters, "It's just the stupid phone." Her Stand glances towards the shrill object, and Shamira can easily imagine the sour glare on its face, were it not for the helmet that concealed it. Rose Watcher dissipates after another ring echoes through the room, and Shamira scrambles across the floor and lunges for the phone. She yanks the receiver off the base and props it against her ear, rubbing her eye with a yawn. "Hello?" she mumbles as she glances through the window in front of her. The sun is just peaking over the horizon.

 _"Greetings, Shamira!"_

She jerks in surprise, slamming her knee against the desk. _"Sonofa"_ —she hisses, massaging her leg in a failing attempt to lessen the throbbing pain—"U-Uncle Muhammad, hey!"

 _"Are you alright? That sounded painful,"_ he teases, a hint of mirth present in his deep, gravelly voice. She makes a mental note that he chose to speak in Egyptian Arabic instead of English, giving her the impression that this may be a bit of a hush-hush conversation.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she grunts in response; it did feel kind of nice being able to talk to someone in her native tongue again. "What's up, is everything okay?" Shamira glances at the alarm clock on her dresser; 4:48 AM. "I wasn't expecting a call so early."

He sighs through the line, and her brow furrows in concern. _"Things are… Not well. Do you remember Holy Kujo?"_

"Joseph Joestar's daugher, right?"

 _"Yes. She is ill."_

Shamira frowns. "That's unfortunate. What's wrong with her?"

 _"At the moment she is fevered and fatigued, but it will only worsen."_ Muhammad says grimly. _"Shamira, we know the cause; it's Dio."_

She stiffens instantly and a knot forms in the pit of her stomach.

"D-Dio?" She falters. "The last time we heard of him, he was in Cairo. What the hell is he doing in Japan?"

 _"He isn't in Japan,"_ Muhammad says. _"It's his Stand that has struck Holy with this illness. Because he has Jonathon's body, he has inexplicably linked himself with the Joestar bloodline, and as a direct result of his Stand's manifestation every member of the lineage has seemed to gain one. Joseph, you are aware of his Stand, yes?"_ Shamira hums in confirmation. She remembers how Joseph was both ecstatic and troubled when his Stand first appeared. Muhammad continues. _"Sometime during this last month, his grandson, Jotaro, gained his too; it is incredibly powerful. Within the last three days however, the same has happened to Holy as well, but…"_

"It's killing her, isn't it?" Shamira blurts out. It wasn't the first time she's heard of it happening.

 _"Regrettably so,"_ Muhammad sighs.

"That's… that's horrible," Shamira murmurs. She has never met Holy, but she's known Joseph almost as long as her uncle has, so she can't imagine how helpless the old man must be feeling right now. "Thank you for calling and telling me, Uncle. I wish there was something I could do."

 _"There is, actually,"_ he states. _"This matter with Holy is dire; she is dying. She has fifty days left, maybe, before her Stand ultimately kills her. Joseph and Jotaro have both made it clear that they will not just stand by and watch. We believe we know Dio's location; he is in Aswan, and evidently he has not left Egypt since I last encountered him. We plan to find him, and kill him, in the hopes it will end this curse afflicting her."_

Shamira is speechless. Kill Dio? He had stolen the body of Joseph's grandfather over a hundred years ago, and the bastard had been living in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean for that whole century. Yet when Muhammad had last seen him, the monster was in perfect condition. How did they expect to kill someone like that? She grits her teeth, her fist curling into a tight ball. And he was still in Egypt…

Shamira can see Rose Watcher manifest out of the corner of her eye as a response to her growing rage; it is a hushed sentinel, its six wings bristling from the same fury she felt. Its armor catches the first beams of sunlight that reach Hong Kong, and as they pour through the window the metal shines as something Shamira could only describe as seraphic.

"Are you going with them?" she demands. "Because if you are, I'm coming with."

Her uncle gives an exuberant chuckle. _"I was hoping you would say that."_

* * *

Of course the first flight out to Egypt wasn't until 11 AM the next day. Still though, Shamira supposes it was better that she arrive in Cairo after the Joestars rather than before, just as a safety precaution. The last thing she needs is to draw any unwanted attention.

At least it gives her time to get her shit together, and by that, it means she puts off packing until the very next day. This is mostly because she has a job as a waitress at a small restaurant down the street from her apartment, and she wants to inform the owner of her sudden departure. Well, that and she also wants to buy some more rolls of film for her Polaroid 600. That camera is her baby, and if she's going back to Egypt, even if it's just to help kill some vampiric douchebag, she plans on taking as many snazzy photos as she can along the way.

Currently she's darting back and forth through her apartment, in her pajamas, amassing a meager collection of the essentials that she shoves unceremoniously into her leather satchel. Shamira doesn't have much for clothing, so she only packs two extra shirts and tank-tops and one pair of pants, all of which are mostly identical to what she had decided to wear anyway. She tosses in a spare sports bras and some panties, because those are necessary, okay? along with three pairs of socks.

Shamira glances at the clock; 6:27. She has time to shower.

Her apartment is pretty small, barely 15 sqm, and it only has enough room to house the basics. In one corner is her bed, which is nestled by a wooden dresser; at the foot of the bed sits a desk, and on that is a mini-TV that has a permanent line in the middle and that annoying landline phone that doesn't even work half the time she ever used it. On the wall perpendicular to the bed and desk is the kitchen, which consisted of a small refrigerator, a kitchen sink and stove-top, one cupboard, and just enough counter space to prep a meal. Parallel to that is the bathroom, a cramped room that barely manages to fit a toilet, shower, and sink, let alone someone who needs to use it.

Shamira hates that bathroom. She needs to shower and brush her teeth though _but she really hates that bathroom._

When the water finally warms and she steps in, she starts thinking about what they might encounter in Cairo. As she massages her scalp, lathering her hair with shampoo, she wonders how they would even fight Dio. He's a vampire, that much she knew, but it isn't like vampires are an everyday occurrence. If anyone but Joseph Joestar had told her that they were real, she would have laughed their ass right out the front door. And what about Dio's Stand? She doesn't know what to expect in that regard.

Joseph's Purple Hermit isn't built for combat, but at least Muhammad's Magician's Red can ruin someone's day. She doesn't have a clue about Joseph's grandson though, what's-his-name. Jotaro? Muhammad had said his Stand is powerful, and Muhammad doesn't exaggerate, but just how powerful is that exactly? Strong enough to break her Stand's defenses?

 _Doubt it,_ Shamira thinks as she rinses her hair and pours a glob of conditioner into her hand. Rose Watcher's armor is, as far as she knows, impenetrable. And not just Watcher's armor, but its wings too. It might not be a particularly fast or strong Stand, but if there is one thing Shamira will bet her soul on, it is that nothing can shatter its guard.

As she rinses her hair again and reaches for the body wash, she catches sight of the patches of pale white skin on her arm and squints at it. Shamira is the same ethnicity as her uncle, African Egyptian, but she also has vitiligo.

And she has mixed feelings about it. All throughout her life she jumped back and forth between loving and hating it. When she was a child, she adored the attention she got from it; a lot of people thought it was interesting and "weird," but at that age she never saw weird as a bad thing. When her father passed away though, her entire view of it changed, and suddenly she hated it and wanted it gone. It made her feel alienated, and because of the life she had a home, she strived for normality. It wasn't until she had been adopted by her uncle that she began to embrace it again, although it could still be a pain in the ass sometimes because it made it hard to avoid unwanted attention.

When the water pouring down the drain no longer carries soap with it, Shamira turns the water off and reaches for a towel before wrapping it around her body.

She steps towards the sink, and as she begins to brush her teeth, she catches her reflection in the mirror. Her skin is dark brown, her eyes small, deep set, and mahogany. Her cheekbones are high and her nose is wide; she has a soft jawline, a pointed chin, and full lips. The most prominent part of the vitiligo is on her face and neck. It's a thick, spotted band that runs horizontally across her face, and the spots that reach her scalp have caused the normally black hair to turn ashen blond. It wraps around her neck like a scarf, trailing down her sternum, shoulders, and upper back, and patches dotted her ribs. The majority of her hands and wrists have it too, but it speckled towards her elbows. Shamira stares at her reflection for a moment, narrows her eyes, then spits into the sink.

When she walks out of the bathroom and glances at the clock again, 20 minutes has passed, so she decides to make a quick breakfast. She switches the TV on to a local English news station and opens the fridge, only partially listening to the reports the anchorwoman goes through. As she grabs two eggs and places a pan on the lit burner, one of the reports catches her attention:

 _"Earlier this morning, at around 6 AM, a jumbo jet made an emergency landing 35 kilometers south of Hong Kong, near Lamma Island. Efforts are underway to rescue all passengers."_

Shamira furrows her brow as she listens, cracking one of the eggs over the hot pan.

 _"The commercial airline had departed from Sendai, Japan[1], and was scheduled to arrive in Cairo, Egypt, later today, but the pilots were incapacitated by an unknown assailant. A passenger was forced to make the emergency landing. Seven casualties have been reported, including the pilots, and…"_

Shamira flinches, crushing the second egg in her hand on reflex, and turns to the little screen in shock. A flight from Japan to Egypt? That couldn't have been the same plane her uncle and the Joestars were on… could it? She glances at the mixture of yolk and egg whites that ooze from her clenched fist, and suddenly she remembers a moment in the past when Joseph had told her how he survived two plane crashes during his life. Shamira scowls at the trepidation that writhes in her gut, and as she washes her hands she tries not to think about the possibility her uncle or one of the Joestars could have been a casualty. That this had happened so soon, right after finding out that Dio was responsible for Holy's illness… It couldn't be a coincidence.

What was she going to do if the passengers who died were them though? What can she even do? Is she the only one besides them who knew about Dio? No, that can't be possible; Joseph would have informed the Speedwagon Foundation. But despite the incredible technology they have, it isn't like they have an abundance of Stand Users they can throw around willy-nilly. Still though… What about Holy? Who was going to stop Dio? Was Shamira going to have to do it alone?

A shrill ring echoes through the apartment, and Shamira winces as it drags her from her bleak thoughts. She dries her hands on the towel still wrapped around her and reaches for the phone with dread, turning the volume on the TV down. "Yes..?" She asks hesitantly, fearing the worst.

 _"Ah, Shamira!"_ an achingly familiar English accent exits the phone, and Shamira heaves a sigh of complete and utter relief.

"Joseph, thank God!" She could have wept from happiness. "I-I just saw a news report, about a commercial airliner having an emergency landing near Hong Kong. The reporter said it departed Japan and was destined for Egypt, but something happened and there were casualties and I—" Shamira's voice wavers, and she has to stop and swallow the lump in her throat. "I was so worried."

 _"I can only imagine, I'm sorry,"_ Joseph apologizes, and she can hear that comforting smile in his voice. _"We're all safe though, you needn't worry any longer,"_ he reassures her. Shamira starts firing off a multitude of questions, asking what has happened, if Dio is responsible, where the group is, and Joseph has to cut her off with a chuckle. _"Shamira, slow down! Listen, I'll answer all your questions soon, but for now we need to regroup; I hope you're hungry."_

At the mention of food, Shamira's nose registers the smell of burning egg and she whips around with a horrified gasp. Rose Watcher manifests on command and snatches the pan off the stove, switching the burner off in the process, and Shamira can't help but stare at the charred egg with a dejected frown.

"Well," she says, "whatever I had planned looks like it went through a furnace, so I would love to have breakfast with you guys."

 _"Wonderful!"_ Joseph exclaims with a laugh, and Shamira grabs a pen and jots the direction he gives to the restaurant onto the palm of her hand. _"You get all that?"_

"Yep! I'll see you guys in a bit!"

 _"See you soon,"_ he pauses, _"and Shamira?"_

"Yes?"

 _"Thank you for joining us."_

Shamira grins.

"Of course Joseph, anything for you."

* * *

Shamira dresses quickly after the phone call.

She dons a white tank top and a loose, tan, elbow length, button-up shirt over it, then slides into a pair of dark brown slacks. She tucks her shirt into the slacks, which are held up by a leather belt with a bronze, ankh emblazoned buckle, and while she figures she should bring her hijab, she opts to wear it wrapped around her leg instead of shoving it into her satchel. She then ties a braided bracelet around her right wrist and fastens a leather cord choker around her neck; a circular steel tag hung from it, engraved with her Zodiac, the Pisces. As she turns to the mirror, slipping on a pair of tiny jade scarab earrings Muhammad had gotten her when she was a little girl, she examines her appearance.

Shamira is short, only about 162 cm, but she knows she's stronger than she looks and she prides herself in having excellent equilibrium. Her body is thin and lean, her hips just a bit wider than her shoulders, and her feet are quite large for her size. She could thank her dad for that. She decides to wear her hair unstyled and natural, and it was cut to medium length with curly and poofy corkscrews; she can easily tie it back when she needs the hijab though.

Shamira rubs her left arm nervously. Uncle Muhammad wasn't going to be happy about the ink that's on it but…

Screw it, it wasn't like he's happy she ran off to Hong Kong anyway. Might as well add one more thing to his ever growing List of Disappointments. Shamira loves her uncle to death but sometimes he can be a little overbearing.

The clock on her dresser reads 7:09, and she knows she needs to get moving so she doesn't leave the group waiting, so she hurries and finishes packing. In go six boxes of film for her camera, a stick of deodorant, her hairbrush, a couple hairbands, and her toothbrush and paste. She also slides in a small photo album, although her Polaroid hangs from her neck by a strap, safely folded in on itself. She slips on her shoes, a pair of large, worn, leather men's boots that belonged to her dad, and grabs her keys.

Shamira stands in the middle of her apartment and wonders if she's forgotten anything important. She's pretty sure she has the necessities, and her cycle ended a few days prior so she doesn't need any of that stuff. As she looks around, she also wonders how long she'll be gone for.

 _Probably a few weeks,_ she thinks, but she figures she should inform her landlord.

Shamira decides some thank-yous are in order. She opens the cupboard in the kitchen and reaches for a large pickle jar that sits on the top shelf, carefully balancing it in her hands and placing it on the counter. The jar is almost completely full of money, dollar bills and coins that she shoved in from her job as a waitress, along with the money she gained doing a few other "odd jobs". It'll suffice though, so Shamira grabs it, flips the light switch off, and walks out her front door without a second glance at the interior of what has been her home for the last few months.

She locks the door quickly and takes an elevator to the ground floor, and just as she steps out she nearly walks into her landlord, an elderly Chinese woman named Kwan Yazhu.

 _How convenient._

"Hello Mrs. Kwan," Shamira chirps in English, and the old woman jumps in surprise.

"Oh! Good morning Shamira!" she responds with a smile. Her accent is strong but comforting, and Shamira can't help but smile back.

Mrs. Kwan is just a few centimeters taller than Shamira, and she always seems to have a sunny disposition around her. Her face is layered in deep wrinkles, with high cheekbones, a squared jaw, and long silver hair pulled into a loose bun. Her clothes are simple: a white blouse, a long, cream skirt, and dark red flats. She's largely ordinary in appearance, but she's also one of the kindest people Shamira has ever met in her life.

Shamira had honestly gotten lucky when she met Mrs. Kwan. She'd been in Hong Kong for a full three days before they had met; Shamira was just barely surviving off the money she had "borrowed" from Joseph, and by that point she only had a few dollars left. Mrs. Kwan came across her when she had hunkered down in some grimy alleyway for the night, and for some reason decided this foreign girl was the person she needed to help. Shamira wasn't sure why the old woman had helped her, of all people; it wasn't like she was the only homeless person in Hong Kong. She thought that maybe it was her vitiligo that caught her attention, that or she just looked so pathetic camping out in that alley, but regardless of the reason, she wasn't going to complain. Mrs. Kwan took her in, put a roof over her head, gave her food to eat and a bed to sleep in, and told Shamira that if she could find a job within the next week, she'd let her have an apartment for half the usual price.

Shamira wondered why this old woman was helping a complete stranger out like this, and when she had asked, Mrs. Kwan simply replied with, "It's the right thing to do". Shamira had started crying on the spot when she heard that.

Needless to say, she did get a job, quite a few actually, and once she had the money to pay the rent, the rest was history.

"Where are you off to this morning?" asks the old woman, and it Shamira snaps out of her thoughts.

"About that…" Shamira begins, but then she hesitates; she's not really sure how to begin, and the elderly woman tilts her head in confusion.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Mrs. Kwan asks again. Shamira closes her eyes and smiles, then holds the money-filled pickle jar out to her landlord.

"I'm leaving Hong Kong for a while, Mrs. Kwan, and I wanted to give this to you as thanks for helping me out like you have," Shamira announces. "You've done so much for me, and I really can't thank you enough." Mrs. Kwan looks utterly flabbergasted, and Shamira might have laughed at the moment if she wasn't trying to be serious.

"Leaving? Is everything alright? This seems so sudden."

Shamira's smile only widens. "Don't worry, everything is fine. I'm going on a trip back to Egypt with some friends and family, and I don't know how long I'll be gone for, so I wanted to give you this." Technically it isn't a lie.

Mrs. Kwan reaches for the jar and grasps it gingerly. "Shamira, this looks like a lot of money…" she mutters, worry seeping into her voice.

"Consider it down payment for rent for the next few months, in case I'm gone for awhile." Or in case that I don't return at all.

"W-Well, alright then. Just— You make sure you stay safe, okay? I couldn't bear to think of you getting hurt," Mrs. Kwan cautions, her voice cracking.

Shamira's throat tightens. "I-I will, I promise," she murmurs. Mrs. Kwan places the jar on the floor and quickly embraces her.

"You'll do good, I know you will," she comforts. Shamira wraps her arms around the old woman and buries her face in her shoulder. It's like she knows… They stay that way for a few more seconds, and as they part Shamira rapidly blinks away the tears that threatened to spill over. "Take care of yourself, Shamira."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Kwan," she whispers. The elderly woman smiles, then bends down to pick the jar up, cradling it in her arms. She steps into the elevator and presses a button, and as the doors close the two woman bow to each other in a final farewell.

Once the metallic doors close, Shamira can hear the elevator begin its ascent, she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and spins on her heel before striding out of the apartment building with a look of sheer determination written across her face.

The last time she counted the contents of that pickle jar, it held almost HK$20,000[2]; Mrs. Kwan will get a use out of it, Shamira is sure of that.

* * *

If there's one thing Shamira El-Amin is sure of, it's that her sense of direction is _so fucking bad_ a headless chicken can find its way around easier than her.

Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it certainly doesn't feel that way right now.

Here she is, practically wandering the streets of the Wan Chai District, trying to find that damn restaurant Joseph had asked her to meet him at; meanwhile she still struggles with reading most of the kanji that surrounds her, and of course the restaurant is in an area she doesn't have mapped out in her head yet. She's only been living in Hong Kong for four months at this point, and she's pretty sure that part of the reason she hasn't died yet, besides dear Mrs. Kwan's help of course, is because she can at least speak English. She sends a silent thank-you to Uncle Muhammad for encouraging her to broaden her English during her youth, because now she is completely fluent in it; Cantonese, on the other hand, is not something she's grasping very easily.

In the entire time she's been in Hong Kong, she's only run into a few people who knew Arabic, but none of them spoke Egyptian Arabic specifically and that kinda bums her out.

Shamira would be lying if she said she doesn't miss Egypt. It may be largely desert and reach 40°C during the summer, but God dammit it was her home and she loved it there. She wants to go back, to return to her birth city of Cairo, and she really just wants to sleep in her bed again. She wants to resume her apprenticeship with Muhammad in the Khan el-Khalili, because that was something Shamira lived for. Watching him perform his Tarot readings to predict a person's future, or when she got to read the palms of tourists and natives alike, those were the highlights of her day. The aroma of cooked foods and spices permeated the souq regularly, and it was always alive with the chatter of merchants and the hustle and bustle of the customers. And the lights, God, those lights; they littered the marketplace like beacons, and at night they were the stars, guiding people through the stone tunnels and streets. Shamira is a firm believer that anyone who visits Cairo has to experience Khan el-Khalili at least once in their life, and she could not have been happier experiencing it every day of hers.

And then that Dio asshole came into the picture and ruined it all.

Shamira will never forget that night they left Egypt. She was coming down with something and, on Muhammad's request, had returned home earlier than usual to try and get some rest. The sun was just setting when she had fallen asleep, but when she awoke a few hours later to her uncle stumbling through the front door, utterly terrified, her stomach dropped. He rushed to the landline in the kitchen and started dialing, throwing an order over his shoulder for her to get ready to leave immediately; any questions she tried to ask fell on deaf ears because Muhammad was too preoccupied with shouting into the phone. He asked for Joseph Joestar, stating it was an urgent and serious matter, and upon hearing that name Shamira bolted for her room to get ready.

She knew who Joseph Joestar was. An older man in his late sixties, Joseph was a British-American who specialized in the dangerously extreme and the extremely dangerous; during 1939, he had saved the entire world from the Pillar Men, ancient and immortal beings who wanted to use the human race as livestock. He had stopped them, but not without sacrifices. Numerous lives were lost, including his best friend Caesar, and during the final battle against the leader of the Pillar Men, a beast named Kars, both he and his mother had nearly died themselves.

When Shamira had first met Joseph, it was a little over two years prior when he came to Egypt to research some ancient coffin that had surfaced off the Atlantic Coast of Africa. She later learned that coffin had contained the body of Dio, or to be more accurate, the body of Joseph's grandfather with Dio's head attached. Considering the fact that Uncle Muhammad looked as if he had come face to face with Death itself, and now he was calling Joseph because of an "urgent and serious matter," Shamira had a hunch it involved the vampire. In less than an hour they were on a plane to New York, and by the time they had reached the city with the towering turquoise statue, Shamira was exhausted. Turns out Dio was the reason they left, and Muhammad had barely escaped the attack with his life.

But she didn't want to be in New York. It wasn't that she didn't like it, she actually found it fascinating to be in a new country, and ever since she had met Joseph she had always wanted to visit America. But lately she'd been developing this grotesque urge to get out and live on her own and do her own thing. So what did she decide to do?

She stole some money and hopped on the first plane to Hong Kong.

Part of her knows she should have just stayed with Muhammad in New York after they fled Egypt, but nooooo, she had to be independent, never mind the fact she was 17 years old and had decided to live on the other side of the freaking planet, alone.

Fucking Dio.

"Excusez-moi[3], could you possibly help me with something?"

Shamira flinches and whirls around on the speaker, her entire body tense, and she summons Rose Watcher on reflex. _Shit, that's a bad first impression._

The owner of the question, an out of place man, doesn't even seem bothered by her jumpy reaction. He doesn't respond to her Stand, which she expected; she'd only met one individual in Hong Kong who could see Rose Watcher, and that person was a little girl. Shamira gives the man a quick once over: he was tall, a lot taller than her, and besides his odd clothing the most noteworthy features he has are that he's Caucasian, lacks eyebrows, and has the weirdest hairstyle she has ever seen. It looks like someone flipped him upside down and dipped his head into a bucket of hair gel. The strands are silver in color and stand straight up, cut flat across the top, and she can't help but wonder how the hell he manages to style that every day. He raises an eyebrow… ridge at her in confusion, probably because she's staring at his hair, and she has to force herself to meet his eyes.

"Um, sure, what did you need help with?" She responds with a forced smile. He grins in turn, and there's this subtle undertone that she can only describe as menacing; the first thing that comes to mind when she sees it is the Cheshire cat, and _oh, now she's really creeped out._

"I was wondering if you could give me directions to the Tiger Balm Garden?" he asks cheerfully, and just a hint of a French accent tinges his voice, but that bright demeanor he has only makes her more uneasy. "I had planned on visiting it today but, well," he barks out a sharp laugh, "it seems I've taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way."

Shamira chuckles nervously. "Yeah, that's an easy thing to do here in Hong Kong, it's like a labyrinth." This guy might creep her out, but she figures she should still help him because, as Mrs. Kwan had put it so eloquently before, it's the right thing to do. "You're gonna want to follow this street, then turn right at the first corner. Take your second left, and you'll hit a large road; just keep following that south and eventually you'll find the Garden."

"Merci[4], much appreciated!" he says, that same grin still in place, and he gives a sort of mock salute before turning around. "Have a wonderful day!"

She waits until he falls in step with the ever-increasing crowd of Hong Kongers before releasing a breath she doesn't realize she's even holding. She has no idea who that man is, but the vibes he gave off were more than a little disturbing. At least she sent him in the opposite direction though, away from her her. Shamira sighs and continues forward in her endeavor to find that stupid restaurant, which the others were probably already at by now.

Turns out the building is right around the corner. Go figure.

Shamira feels this shit-eating grin grow on her face when she sees it, especially because she's even able to read the kanji well enough to know it's the right place. Her hands begin to tremble and she suddenly realizes how nervous she actually is; this will be the first time she's seen her uncle since she left New York. But despite the nerves, she is also excited. Not only is she going to see Muhammad, she's also going see Joseph again _and_ she gets to meet his grandson, and to top it all off, _she's going back to Egypt._

Shamira steels her nerves and shakes her hands out in an attempt at calming herself down. _No point in wasting anymore time,_ she thinks, so she takes a deep breath, pushes the entrance door open, and steps into the building.

* * *

 ** _[1] As far as I'm aware, we're never actually told where in Japan the Kujo family lives, so I had to be a little creative here. Apparently Kakyoin's name comes from a neighborhood that's located in Sendai, the capital city of the Miyagi Prefecture in Japan, so I figured that would be a good enough location to use as a starting point. Although I imagine Kakyoin having that name isn't any different than someone having the name Dallas, or London, or even India, and just because it's his name it doesn't mean he, or any of the others, actually live in that location. Again, it's mostly just for a reference point, and because I wanted to specify a location in the news report._**

 ** _[2] HK$20,000 is a lot of money, just thought you guys should know that._**

 ** _[3] Excusez-moi = excuse me._**

 ** _[4] Merci = thanks._**

 ** _It's also really weird writing all of Shamira's responses to Avdol as "Muhammad" because I'm so used to referring to him only as Avdol since that's literally what everyone else calls him._**

 ** _Please review! It helps me grow and I want to know what you readers think of the story so far._**

 ** _P.S. I will not be following a strict updating schedule for this story; I will update when I do. Please respect this._**

 ** _Until next time~_**


	2. Ain't No Chariots of Fire

**_A/N; Hello again!_**

 ** _So I found quite a few errors in the last chapter, and have changed them accordingly. I'm sure there are a few left though, but I've fixed the most glaringly obvious ones (to me, at least)._**

 ** _Sorry this took so long, I'm terrible at personal deadlines. It's also really fucking hot right now where I live, it's been averaging 105°F - 115°F (40°C - 46°C for any of you who are outside the US) daily for the last week, and my laptop is a piece of crap and overheats easily. One of our ACs also broke so overall this summer has just been a real pain in the ass so far._**

 ** _Anyway, all excuses aside, here is Chapter 2! I hope you guys enjoy._**

* * *

The moment Shamira crosses the threshold of the restaurant, the hostess at the podium looks up, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "Hello ma'am, do you have a reservation here?" she asks, her tone snippy and laced with doubt. The woman gives her a once-over, sizing her up, the look of disdain on her face heavily implying that she doesn't think Shamira should even be in there. To make matters worse, she spoke in Cantonese.

 _Fuck._

"Um, I'm supposed to be meeting some people here," Shamira stammers out. She knows she butchered a few words, and that her pronunciation is way off, but she hopes it's at least decent enough for the woman to understand. The hostess rolls her eyes, not even making an effort to hide her contempt.

"Do you have a name that I can look for?"

"Joseph Joestar," Shamira responds stiffly. She is highly tempted to add something nasty in, but ultimately decides against it. Not because it would be rude, but because she doesn't want to get thrown out of the restaurant.

The hostess lets out an audible sigh as she traces her finger down the guest list clipped to the board in her hands. Shamira can hear the sound of her acrylic nail as it scrapes across the paper, searching for its mark before stopping to tap a name. "Ah, Mr. Joestar. They're expecting you, please follow me," she says pointedly. Shamira mutters something unpleasant in Arabic and follows the hostess into the main dining room, trailing closely behind her as she weaves between the tables. She scans the room, catching sight of the Joestar table located near the back, and she instantly knows it's them because she could recognize her uncle from a mile away,

"Uncle Muhammad!" Shamira shrieks. Every head in the room snaps in her direction. Some of the other patrons glare daggers at her, including the hostess who really doesn't look happy about her outburst, but Shamira couldn't care less. Her uncle is up in one second and in the next he's hugging her so tightly that she can barely breathe.

"Shamira! It's so wonderful to see you again!" he greets her with a warm grin so broad it stretches from ear to ear. "I've been looking forward to this since we parted ways, I've missed you so much."

"It's good to see you too, Uncle," she says softly, almost choking on her words. She can feel herself tearing up but _dammit she is not going to cry right now_. "I missed you."

"What, you didn't miss me?" a voice cuts in. "Come on, where's my hug!"

Shamira coughs out a laugh, wiping away any rogue tears that attempt to escape, as she leans away from her uncle to peek around his broad shoulders.

"Of course I missed you, Joseph, how could I not? There hasn't been anyone here in Hong Kong to annoy the crap out of me."

Joseph laughs. "Just shut up and get over here, you little brat," he says, holding his arms wide open.

Shamira grins and happily complies; it's hard to pass up a hug with a man like Joseph Joestar. He doesn't hold her as tightly as her uncle did, but he's 195 cm of muscle even at the ripe old age of 69, so she still feels squished.

"Hey, Jiji[1], who the hell is this?"

"Oh, right! Seems some introductions are in order," Joseph exclaims as he steps to the side, a hand on her shoulder. Shamira blinks in surprise upon seeing not one, but two other people seated at the table; she hadn't realized there was a fourth individual who had joined them. Joseph gestures to the individual on his left, a boy wearing a black Japanese school uniform and cap. "Shamira, this is my grandson. Jotaro, this is Shamira El-Amin; she is Avdol's niece. She'll be joining us on our journey to Egypt."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Jotaro," Shamira says with a smile. Now that she's in front of the table, she's able to get a better look at him. Even sitting down she can tell he's tall, undoubtedly the same height as his grandfather. Their faces are similar as well, the angular face and strong jawline, reminding her of a picture she had seen of Joseph that was taken during his adolescence. Jotaro's skin is lightly tanned, his brow permanently furrowed enough to give the impression he's glaring, but his monolidded eyes are the most incredible shade of teal that she's ever seen before. His uniform is modified, left unbuttoned, with a high, stiff collar pierced on the left by golden chain, and a cap that's ripped along the crown; Shamira isn't sure where the hat ends and his dark hair begins.

Jotaro grunts in acknowledgement but turns his head away, no longer interested in the conversation. Shamira puffs her cheeks out with annoyance, and Joseph has to lean in to whisper, "Don't let that bother you, he's like that with everyone."

When Shamira narrows her eyes at him, he hurriedly attempts to introduce the other boy before she can respond in full. "This is Noriaki Kakyoin," he states, motioning towards the other boy with a nervous smile, "He's a student at Jotaro's school; he also has a Stand, and he wants to help us find Dio."

Kakyoin greets her with a small bow of his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, El-Amin-san[2]," he says, his voice carrying an accent, and Shamira chuckles awkwardly.

"Please, just call me Shamira. El-Amin is too formal for me." Kakyoin nods with a warm smile, and she's just happy that at least he's being polite. He's also Japanese, but he doesn't look like he's mixed, not like Jotaro. His hair is dark red and medium length, with short bangs and a long, twisting lock in the front that drapes towards the right of his head. His cheekbones are high and pronounced, he has wide lips set upon a long, squared chin, and his eyes are dark violet in color. He also wears a school uniform, although his isn't modified, and Shamira makes a mental note that the dark green shade compliments his pale skin.

The hostess clears her throat loudly to get their attention. "Pardon me, Mr. Joestar," she says, frowning at Shamira, "but are you expecting anyone else? Or is she the only one?"

"She's the only one, thank you for bringing her to us," Joseph answers. The hostess bows silently, shooting Shamira one last withering glare as she turns to leave.

Shamira almost sneers at the hostess as she walks away, but when she catches sight of Muhammad side-eying her, she musters up the most innocent smile she can. He chuckles in response. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

Shamira lets out a mordant laugh. "Were you _really_ expecting me to?" she asks.

He shrugs, pulling an empty chair out that sat between he and Kakyoin. "Maybe a little," he says, pinching his fingers together as he nods towards the chair. Shamira sits down with a playful huff as she drops her leather satchel on the ground, but a small smile still remains.

"Now that we're all here…" Joseph begins, just as he and Muhammad settle back into their own seats.

"Could you tell me what happened on the plane?" Shamira blurts out, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment when everyone focuses on her. "S-Sorry, I just"—she clears her throat—"I still don't fully know what happened."

"It's alright" Muhammad reassures her, "You deserve to know. We were attacked by an assassin named Gray Fly. He was the man responsible for those major plane and train accidents in the past, including that crash in England that took 300 lives."

Shamira bites her lip in worry. "I'm glad you guys put an end to him then, he probably planned on killing everyone onboard that plane."

"I don't doubt that," Kakyoin nods in agreement. "Had we not stopped him when we did, I'm sure he would have gone on to kill even more people in the future."

"Don't sell yourself short, Kakyoin, you're the one who stopped him," Jotaro interjects, and Kakyoin frowns in embarrassment. Shamira actually finds it a little endearing, though she would never admit that out loud.

Joseph hums in confirmation. "Unfortunately, because of what occurred with that assassin and his Tower of Gray, it's now become impossible for us to simply fly to Egypt. If we encounter another Stand User like him on any other kind of commercial flight, we'd be sure to cause a disaster that could harm even more people. That leaves us with only two options: land or sea."

Muhammad's face tightens from perturbation. "But if we fail to find Dio within fifty days…" He hesitates. The table falls into a solemn silence.

Kakyoin sighs, knitting his brow as he mutters, "If we had stayed on that plane, we'd probably be in Egypt by now." No one else speaks, and Shamira isn't sure what to say, so she remains quiet. She hadn't been on that plane after all, so it's not her place to pass any judgement; they did what they had to do to survive.

"I'm aware of that," Joseph laments, his voice pained. "But…" he tilts his head to the side with a forced smile, "It's too soon to worry about that." Everyone turns to him in surprise, and his smile becomes more genuine. "You see, a hundred years ago, Jules Verne wrote a story in which the protagonist traveled around the world in 80 days. He traveled nearly 40,000 kilometers, and this was in the age of trains and steamboats. So even without a plane. In fifty days, we'll be able to travel the 10,000 kilometers to Egypt." He tugs a folded piece of paper from his coat and opens it, producing a map of the entire planet that he flattens across the table; everyone leans forward for a better look. "As for the route…" he continues, trailing his gloved finger across the map to carve a potential path they could follow, "I say we go by sea. We'll charter a suitably-sized boat, go around the Malay peninsula, and cross the Indian Ocean. It'll be like the Silk Road of the sea."

"I believe that is best," Muhammad says, nodding in agreement. "If we go by land, the borders will only be a hassle. We would also have to cross the Himalayas _and_ a desert. If we encountered any trouble during that, which we inevitably would, we'd lose a great deal of time. There are too many dangers."

"I haven't been to any of these places using either route, so I can't say much," Kakyoin admits. "I'll leave it up to you two."

"Same," Shamira and Jotaro say in unison.

"Then it's decided," Joseph concludes. "The greatest danger will be the Stand Users that Dio sends against us, so we'll have to do our best to get to Egypt without being spotted."

"As long as we lay low though, that shouldn't be too much of a problem," Shamira remarks. "Hong Kong is huge, there are at least 5 million people here. The odds of us being found should be slim to none, if we're careful."

Joseph smiles. "One can only hope."

* * *

Once the group figures out how they're going to get to Egypt, there's little else they could do besides order their meal. Which isn't entertaining in the slightest, considering Shamira can barely read any of the kanji, so instead she begins to fiddle with her camera out of boredom. It's not like they need her help anyway, Joseph has it all under control. Shamira pops her Polaroid open, then closes it, then pops it again before repeating. When Kakyoin sighs, Shamira tenses up in response; she wasn't thinking about how annoying she might be, playing with her camera like that. Instead of commenting on her actions, the red-headed boy closes the menu he's holding and places it neatly on the table, a look of frustration marring his face.

"Is something wrong, Kakyoin?" Shamira ask hesitantly.

He smiles at her, but she can see the exasperation seeping from his expression. "I'm just a little irritated that I can't read the kanji as well as I'd hoped," he responds. "I've been to Hong Kong a few times in the past but none of what I've learned during those visits has stuck. I can recognize some of writing, but a lot of it doesn't make much sense."

Shamira chuckles. "I can relate. I've been here for four months and I still don't have the hang of it yet. It's so different from Arabic," she says, "it's been difficult trying to learn it."

"The cultural shock alone must have made it hard to live here," he comments, reaching for the teapot that sits in the center of the table; Shamira had completely forgotten it was even there. As Kakyoin gently slides the lid of the porcelain teapot to the side, balancing it along the rim, he catches sight of Jotaro's curious stare. "This is a sign to let them know that we want more," Kakyoin explains. "If you do this here in Hong Kong, they'll bring you seconds." A waitress in a blue qipao dress approaches the table, carrying a small teapot in her hands, and she quickly pours the steaming liquid into Kakyoin's teacup.

"Also, when they fill your cup…" Shamira adds, and Kakyoin doesn't miss a beat; he taps the table with his index finger, twice, in rapid succession, smiling politely at the waitress, "That means, 'thank you'." The waitress returns the smile before leaving, though if Jotaro had any plans to respond he doesn't get to act on them.

"Excusez-moi, do you have a moment?"

Shamira stiffens. _Oh no…_ Everyone turns to the speaker, but Shamira can already recognize the voice and her mind begins racing.

"I'm a tourist from France, and I'm having a hard time reading the menu," the man says, closing the booklet he held in front of his. Shamira cautiously turns her head to see that, yes, it is definitely the same man she had met outside, and that, no, she is definitely not going crazy. "Could you please help me out?" he asks, using the same smile he'd used on her before.

"We're busy," Jotaro answers bluntly. "Piss off."

 _What a little prick_ , Shamira thinks, scoffing under her breath. She's barely known this kid for an hour, but already she's starting to dislike him for his attitude. Still though…

In any other scenario she might have said something, but the foreboding mass of uneasiness she feels, even as it gnaws its way through her chest, overpowers any tinge of sympathy she might have felt for the strange Frenchman.

"Jotaro! Don't be rude!" Joseph scolds. "It never hurts to help someone out." He turns to the Frenchman with an apologetic look and holds his hand out, to which the man gives him the menu with a thankful smile. "I've been to Hong Kong before, so I can at least read some of the kanji on the menu. Why don't you join us?"

Shamira has a really bad feeling about this guy… But when she glances at the others, none of them seem particularly bothered by him. Jotaro mostly looks annoyed, but she assumes it's because he got told off; Kakyoin looks amused, probably because of the expression on Jotaro's face, and Muhammad is focused on something else that Shamira can't see. She feels herself beginning to stare at the silver-haired Frenchman though.

"What would you like to order?" Joseph asks politely. He starts listing off different meals: shrimp, duck, fish… The Frenchman shrugs, saying he will be okay with whatever the older man decides on. As Joseph calls a waiter over to order the meals he wants, the Frenchman peers around Muhammad's form and locks eyes with Shamira, countering her wary stare with a challengingly devilish smile. She knows she should look away, but instead she holds her gaze steady; she's not ready to back down yet. The Frenchman chuckles.

"You're that girl I met outside earlier, aren't you?" he asks, drawing the attention of everyone else but Joseph, who is still busy with the order. Shamira doesn't respond. "Yes, it is you, I recognize those marks on your skin. I've never seen something like that on a person before, they're rather peculiar." She feels her uncle go rigid next to her, and she doesn't need to see his face to know that comment bothers him a lot more than it does her. After all, when you've been living with something "peculiar" since birth, you learn to get used to the stares.

"My mom poured bleach on me when I was a kid," she deadpans, and the Frenchman laughs in response. "But truth be told, I'm more curious how you ended up here. You do realize you turned yourself around completely, right? The place you wanted is in the opposite direction of this restaurant."

"Oh, yes, I know. Right after we parted ways, I decided I was hungry and I remembered passing by this restaurant, so I figured I'd backtrack to it." The Frenchman smiles again, the same one he gave her a minute prior. "What are the odds, though, that I meet _you_ here?" he asks, sarcasm in his tone of voice.

"Yeah…" Shamira says flatly, "What are the odds?" She drops her gaze back down to her camera and begins toying with it again. To be honest, this guy seriously makes her uncomfortable, but… maybe she's just overreacting. Maybe her nerves are getting to her, because of this whole journey they're prepared to go on; maybe she's just looking for something that isn't actually there. Shamira sighs quietly, briefly glancing up, just for a second, where she locks eyes with Kakyoin. She can't quite read the expression on his face. It almost looks like there's doubt in his eyes, and she silently begs him to understand her reaction. When his eyes dart away, back to the Frenchman, part of her regrets having ever looked up in the first place. She scolds hers internally for making a scene like that.

She can feel the worry rolling off Muhammad when he turns to her. "Shamira…" he starts. She doesn't give him a chance to say more than that.

"Joseph," Shamira speaks up, cutting her uncle off. "What did you order?" The elderly man had been distracted with the waiter, so he apparently hadn't noticed what occurred. He also looks a little too excited considering he just ordered food.

"Oh, you'll see," Joseph grins mischievously. Jotaro glares at him with suspicion.

In the fifteen minutes it takes for their meal to be prepared, the majority of the tension leave the table. This is mostly because Joseph starts a conversation up with the Frenchman, asking if his trip in Hong Kong is going well, if he is enjoying it, the usual basic questions. Initially her uncle is hesitant to join in, because although he's always been a sociable man, he's also very reserved. The moment the Frenchman begins talking about the countryside of his homeland though, Shamira knew her uncle would crack; one of his favorite things is learning about near cultures. Occasionally Kakyoin interjects with some questions of his own, but overall, she and Jotaro remain silent. When the food finally arrives though, only Shamira and Joseph don't stare at it with shock.

Four large dishes, filled with an assortment of different foods, are placed before them, along with some bowls, plates, and chopsticks. Roasted frogs, some kind of clam dish, rice porridge and stewed fish… Muhammad makes comments about the meal, regarding the food with a comedic wariness.

"This is… rather different…" Kakyoin mumbles. Shamira snickers; this isn't the weirdest thing she's eaten since living here in Hong Kong, but she always enjoys seeing other people's nervousness with new cuisine.

Jotaro frowns. "I knew this would happen."

When the Frenchman groans, Joseph nearly roars in laughter. "Dig in, everyone! It's on me!"

Watching everyone's shock morph into surprise upon realizing the food is actually delicious is another thing Shamira enjoys seeing. While she nibbles on a piece of roasted frog, Kakyoin and Muhammad marvel over the seafood, forcing Shamira to suppress a giggle because they look ridiculous. When Joseph asks if they all enjoy it, everyone grunts in agreement.

"It's delicious! They've certainly put a lot effort into preparing this," the Frenchman says as he pick up a carrot with his chopsticks. "Look at these," he remarks, admiring the vegetable, "They're shaped like stars. It actually reminds me of something…" Everyone at the table tenses, and this time Shamira _knows_ she isn't the only one who senses the menacing aura that the man gives off. "Oh, that's right. I know someone with a birthmark just like this," he says with a wicked smirk, plucking the carrot up with his fingers before pressing it against the junction of his neck and shoulder, " _Right here_ , on his neck."

The only people Shamira knows of with star shaped birthmarks are the Joestars. Seeing as how only three were currently alive and whole, two in front of her and the last in Japan, that only leaves one other individual who could possibly have one; Dio.

"You…" Kakyoin starts, his tone threatening, "You're another—"

The next thing Shamira knows, a rapier bursts out of the bowl of porridge and slices down at Joseph, who barely manages to stop the blade with his prosthetic hand. Everyone leaps from their chairs. Muhammad shouts a warning as he flips the table, summoning his Magician's Red which releases a burst of fire from its beaked maw. The rapier twists itself around, the flames spinning around the blade like a tornado, pulled together to reveal the wielder; a Stand, a robotic knight layered in silver armor, its frame thin, lithe, and its eyes a piercing blue. It swings its arm towards the upturned table and the flames streak off the rapier like a fusillade, burning a clock into the wooden surface.

"That sword is so fast…" someone utters in awe, but Shamira is too distracted to see who. Rose Watcher is already out, its armor reflecting the light of the flames, the six massive wings adorning its back snapping open to defend the others.

"My Stands hold the card of The Chariot, and it is my Silver Chariot!" the Frenchman declares, his stance ready for a battle. "Muhammad Avdol, it seems that you wish to die first. I have created a clock of fire on that table, and before it strikes twelve I will have finished all of you."

Oh, this French fuck did _not_ just threaten her uncle. Shamira grinds her teeth in rage, but she doesn't get much further than a step because Muhammad blocks her with his arm. She turns to him in anger, appalled that he'd stop her. "Uncle," she almost hisses, "Let me help you."

"No," he says firmly, glaring forward at the enemy with a stern gaze.

"But—"

 _"No."_

Shamira clenches her teeth again but backs away. She can feel the eyes of the others on her, but she ignores them. She's too furious right now to care.

"Your sword is frighteningly quick," her uncle directs towards the Frenchman. "It's astounding, but do you truly think you'll defeat me so quickly? Aren't you being rather conceited, Mister…?"

"Polnareff," the man answers. "Allow me to introduce myself; Jean Pierre Polnareff."

"Merci beaucoup. While I appreciate your introduction," Muhammad begins, waving his hand toward the table, exploding it on command. "Monsieur Polnareff, it would be unwise to assume that my fire burns as it would in nature. It is called Magician's Red because the flames obey my will completely."

"How fitting," Polnareff responds. Silver Chariot rests the point of its blade against the ground. "In the beginning, the world was engulfed in flames; it is appropriate then, that you are the first, The Magician, to symbolize the birth of our planet through such great fire. But," he continues, his tone clipped as he fishes out a handful of coins from his pocket, "You say that I am conceited? That my swordsmanship is mere boasting?"

He throws the coins into the air, and in the blink of an eye his Silver Chariot pierces all five of them along its rapier. Shamira hears Joseph gasp. She herself blanches when Jotaro comments to look more closely; the residual fire that was left drifting through the air had also been impaled, nestled between each coin, still left blazing.

Polnareff smirks. "It appears you understand now that it is not conceit. My Silver Chariot can sever the very air to create gaps between that which doesn't exist." His Stand looms behind him, holding its rapier close to its face like it is admiring a trophy. "Your Magician's Red is powerless before it," Polnareff mocks, and as the Stand swipes its sword to dispose of the coins, letting them clatter to the ground, the Frenchman disappears from sight. The sound of a door opening draws everyone's attention, only to find Polnareff had crossed the room in less than a blink of the eye.

"Where are you going?" Muhammad demands.

"My Stand's namesake, The Chariot, suggests conquest and victory," Polnareff states. Shamira narrows her eyes in irritation. "I don't mind battling in a small space, but, Avdol, your abilities are much more powerful in an open area, no?" Polnareff smirks again, clashing with Muhammad's stern expression. "Defeating you on your own ground would only be fitting for a Stand such as mine."

* * *

You know a guy's got moxie when he can walk in front of a group of enemies while leaving his back completely unguarded. Well, that or he's just an idiot.

Shamira sighs. It's not like they were going to attack him, even though Jotaro looks like he wants to. _I suppose it's only fair we don't_ , she thinks. After all, it isn't every day you come across someone who is willing to give their opponent an edge during combat. Shamira knows how Magician's Red works; it would truly have a better advantage in an open space. She does not know how Silver Chariot works, though, none of them did, so an open space could just as easily benefit Polnareff as it would Muhammad.

Joseph and Muhammad are at the front of the group, whispering to each other about their current predicament. Shamira walks between the teenage boys, her satchel back around her shoulder, and she's fiddling with her camera again, opening and closing it repeatedly. This time though, it's not out of boredom, but out of apprehension.

"That's starting to get annoying," Jotaro says without looking down.

Shamira almost scowls at him but stops herself, instead trading it with an apology. "This whole situation has me on edge." Jotaro doesn't respond, giving her the impression that he doesn't care. That thought alone begins to sour her mood, and it's a solid 10 seconds before she gets any kind of reaction.

"Is it the situation in general, or because it involves your uncle?" he tests, like he's unsure of how to word the question.

Shamira shrugs. "Both, I guess, but more because of the latter."

"Shamira-san," Kakyoin cuts in, catching her attention. "Polnareff said he met you outside the restaurant. What was all that about?"

She groans in response. "He asked me for directions to the Tiger Balm Garden, which I gave. But even then, not knowing his intentions, he felt threatening." She scratches her head, suddenly self-conscious of her vitiligo. Polnareff had made a comment about it back at the restaurant, making her worry that Kakyoin will start asking questions about it too. He doesn't, though, thankfully, and simply waits for her to continue. "I should have been more wary of him. He definitely knew my relations to Muhammad, the fact he could have attacked me before I even made it to you guys is unnerving." She sighs. "I didn't even know Dio was aware I existed."

Kakyoin tilts his head. "Isn't the Tiger Balm Garden nearby?"

Shamira stops dead in her tracks, and it takes a moment for the two boys to realize she fell behind. They slow down, questioning looks on their faces.

"Wait, is this the Tai Hang Road?"

"I believe it is," Kakyoin answers hesitantly, a hint of inflection at the end of his sentence.

"That son of a bitch…" Shamira mutters under her breath. "He's leading us straight to the Garden!"

"He seems very sure of himself," Kakyoin comments.

Shamira snorts and resumes walking. "For a guy who says he isn't conceited, he's awfully arrogant."

Jotaro's frowns, or well, frowns more than he naturally seems to do. "What do you mean?"

"He doesn't understand that he's being conceited just by using The Chariot as a symbol for his skill," Shamira explains. "When he speaks about it, he only mentions the positive aspects of the card." Both boys look at her in confusion, and she has to remind herself that not everyone grew up with an uncle who worked as a fortune teller. "Every Tarot card in the Major Arcana has both good and bad meanings, and these meanings present themselves based on how the cards are drawn. Polnareff keeps talking about how The Chariot symbolizes conquest and victory, but the card also alludes to carelessness. The rider has no control of himself because he's being drawn by dual sphinxes, ones that aren't bound by any reins, so he needs to have faith in them to bring him to his destiny."

"But having too much faith in something means someone becomes too relaxed and self-confident," Kakyoin points out.

" _Exactly_ ," Shamira confirms. "He has so much confidence in his skill that he isn't going to realize the sphinxes are pulling him in opposite directions until it's too late."

Jotaro gives her a curious look. "You think he'll lose?"

Shamira grins at him. "The Magician is the first card in the deck for a reason. I'm not saying that Polnareff isn't skilled, or that I'm completely certain my uncle will succeed, I'm just saying that the phrase 'don't play with fire' is used for a reason."

Shamira skips ahead of two boys, suddenly in a good mood, then spins on her heels to snap a quick photo of them. When they both gawk at her, any attempt at stifling her laughter goes out the window because their faces are just hilarious. Shamira almost cackles as she jogs up to her uncle's side, and she hears Jotaro grumble something in Japanese, followed by Kakyoin's awkward chuckle.

As they round a corner, Joseph shouts out to Polnareff, "Hey! Where are you trying to take us?"

"It isn't much further," is all the Frenchman responds with.

"Where the hell is he going…?" Joseph mumbles to him.

"He's taking us to the Tiger Balm Garden," Shamira speaks up, tucking the photo of the boys into her satchel. Her grin widens when both men jump in surprise.

"Shamira!" Joseph yells, "Stop being so sneaky."

"I'm not sneaky!" she retorts. "You're just old, you probably couldn't hear a tank rolling up behind you even if the cannon was touching your ass." Her uncle tries to chastise her, but Joseph waves it off with a hearty laugh.

Muhammad sighs. "How do you know he's taking us to the Garden?" he asks, attempting to stay back on topic.

"Because it's right there," Shamira says, pointing to a location in the distance. "We're also on the road to it, although he only knows where it is because I gave him directions. Isn't that right, Polnareff?"

"Merci mon chérie[3]," Polnareff playfully smirks over his shoulder, only to be met with Shamira's grimace. She doesn't understand French, but she doesn't need to to know she isn't comfortable with his flirtatious tone of voice.

Her uncle sighs again. "The sooner we get there, the better." He sends a quick glare off at Polnareff. "I'd rather not draw this out anymore than needed."

They reach the Garden in about five minutes. Joseph oohs and ahhs at the interior, gazing at all the intricate and extravagant statues in amazement.

"When you said it was a garden," he mumbles, "I was expecting a floral garden, not this."

"This is a great tourist location," Kakyoin comments. Shamira definitely agrees with him. She had visited the Gardens a few time during her previous job and thoroughly enjoyed it. Seeing it again is starting to bring back surprisingly good memories regarding her old boss and young ward. Even though she had parted ways with them on slightly less than amicable terms, she still hopes they're doing well.

"I am going to make a prediction, Avdol, that your Stand will be your undoing," Polnareff states matter-of-factly. Shamira gives him a dirty look.

"Avdol…" Jotaro says.

"You need not interfere, Jotaro. I can control my Stand as freely as I wish in an area like this."

Shamira whines. "But Uncle Muhammad—" He simply gives her _the look_ , the kind a parent gives their child when the kid knows the answer already. Shamira rolls her eyes, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"What's the fucking point in me being here if you won't let me defend you!" she cries out in frustration, stomping away. She feels childish, but she also feels like it's justified; part of the reason Joseph and her uncle wanted her to join them is because her Rose Watcher can protect others. But why be there if she isn't even given the chance to do so? Is she just supposed to sit there, twiddling her thumbs, as she watches her uncle fight to the death with some random French guy? It's bullshit!

Shamira grumbles as she walks away from the others, heading towards a statue of a tiger. She hears Polnareff begin his assault, and she glances back to see Silver Chariot slashing at Magician's Red. The anthropomorphic bird dodges each strike with clean elegance, almost like it's dancing, which is enough to prompt Polnareff to spit insults out at Muhammad.

"Come on, come on! Are you not going to use your precious fire?" the Frenchman snarls, Silver Chariot launching a flurry of strikes that the phoenix-like Stand dodges once again. The strikes reach past it, colliding with a statue of an eagle, and stone splinters and crumbles away to reveal a detailed carving of Magician's Red.

"That bastard," Joseph curses. "He's mocking us." Without thinking twice, Shamira snaps a quick photo of the statue, snatching the picture from the camera slot and airing it out to see if the image is clear. Joseph gapes at her. "Is now really the best time for that?" he demands.

"Hey, I can't take pictures of Stands normally, projections of energy don't exactly show up well in a photograph," she counters, jabbing a finger at him. "I saw my chance and I acted on it." Shamira grins sheepishly when Kakyoin huffs out a small, muffled laugh. In her defense, she has always wanted a picture of Magician's Red before, but all her attempts at ever getting one before resulted in empty images. She quickly shoves the photo into her satchel.

"You know…" Polnareff goads, focusing all the attention on himself again, "Your Magician's Red fits in rather well with this garden of oddities." Shamira really wants to kick him in the balls for that comment.

Her uncle doesn't look any more pleased than she is. In fact, he looks rather pissed off. Shamira feels excitement bubbling up when Magician's Red rears up behind Muhammad and draws in a deep breath, waves of heat billowing off its body and swirling around its mouth. Joseph pales and begins backing away, yanking Shamira with him by the collar of her shirt.

"Hey, all of you hide behind something!" he orders, ignoring the girl's protests. "Avdol is going to use _it_."

"It?" Jotaro asks in confusion as he follows his grandfather, Kakyoin close behind. Joseph literally tosses Shamira behind a rock, preventing her from seeing Muhammad's attack, though she does hear him shout as fire whooshes through the air.

"Is that all you've got?" she hears Polnareff taunt. A strange sound accompanies his jeer, like a blade striking an anvil, and whatever the Frenchman says after that is drowned out by an explosive crack. Shamira struggles to lift herself to see over the rock, but when she catches Magician's Red screech of pain, her blood runs cold. She's never heard her uncle's Stand make that sound before. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees is Muhammad kneeling on the ground, surrounded by his flames.

Polnareff grins smugly. "Burned to death by your own power, just as I predicted!" he declares. It feels like someone is crushing Shamira's heart, like they're squeezing her lungs as hard as they can, and she can only sit and watch as tears well up in her eyes. Magician's Red lunges towards Polnareff in a last-ditch effort. The Frenchman looks entirely underwhelmed, and Silver Chariot's rapier tips forward before snapping up, cleaving the phoenix in two. As it begins to collapse, the fire swirling around it bursts out and engulfs the knight. "How?" Polnareff shouts in confusion, "I cut it down!"

The blaze that envelops Muhammad disperses as he stands, completely unharmed. "It seems that blinding you by fire is much easier than I had originally thought," he comments. "You forget I can manipulate my flames however I wish. What you just cut down was the statue your Silver Chariot carved earlier; I melted its joints to give the illusion of movement." Polnareff stares in utter shock, clashing with Avdol's hardened glare. "It looks to me like you are the one is has been defeated by his own Stand." A burst of fire erupts from the claws of Magician's Red, sailing forward in the shape of a massive ankh, blasting the Frenchman and sending him flying.

Shamira vaults over the rock they were hiding behind and bolts for her uncle. He makes some comment about how foolish Polnareff was for making a prediction in front of a fortune teller, but she doesn't care about that. As he turns around, she slams into him and wraps her arms around him as tightly as she can, burying her face in his chest.

"Don't ever do that again," she sniffles, struggling to hold back tears, her voice is muffled by his robes.

Muhammad returns the hug, placing his hand atop her head. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I promise I won't."

"His Stand took that head on, it's gotta be done for!" Joseph exclaims as he approaches. Shamira releases her hold on her uncle so he can move, quickly wiping her eyes when she notices both boys are right behind him.

"It's a hell of a burn," Jotaro agrees. "If he's not dead, than he's at least in serious condition."

Kakyoin turns to leave the Garden. "Either way, his Stand was destroyed; he'll be out for months."

"Mr. Joestar," Muhammad says, placing his arm around Shamira's shoulder, "We should continue on our journey to Egypt. Time is of the essence." Joseph hums in agreement, and the group takes their leave, Shamira remaining by her uncle's side. This was too close of a call.

An explosion goes off behind them, causing the ground to sway. Everyone whips around instantly, someone shouting out a "what the hell," but Shamira isn't able to see who because she's too focused on the fact that Polnareff is floating in the air. He's upside down, bellowing in laughter, "Bravo! Oh, bravo!" he howls, clapping his hands harshly, looking entirely unhinged.

"He's not even injured!" Kakyoin yells in shock.

"Why the hell is he floating?" Shamira could've laughed at Jotaro's question, were the situation not what it currently is.

Polnareff chuckles, arrogance dripping from his words. "Take a good hard look."

She has to squint to see it, as it's nearly a mirage, but it's still there; Silver Chariot, holding its master up effortlessly. They look like circus performers, and as it tosses Polnareff up he flips and lands on his feet perfectly, his Stand back at his side. Except now it has no armor on, its frame more akin to a robotic skeleton than a knight.

Polnareff grins. "You look shocked! Never seen a Stand who could remove its armor?" He chuckles again. "Allow me to explain, after all it would be dishonorable not to; you see, what you burned away was merely the metal that protected it. That's why I received no wounds," he says, and his grin widens, "And now, with its armor off, Silver Chariot is lighter and faster than ever before!"

"I see," Muhammad responds, calmly stepping forward with his arms crossed. Shamira wants to follow, knows she should, but the battle isn't over. To get involved would be to break their agreement to fight fairly, and as much as she might loathe this man, she isn't about to encroach on a fight that is only meant for two people. "So what you're saying is that it had no choice but it take my attack head on, due to the weight of its armor." Muhammad readies himself for more battle. "That would also mean it is naked now, correct? It will not survive another direct hit."

That wipes Polnareff's grin right off his face. "Oui, precisely. But…" his smirk returns. Shamira swears that every time he smiles she despising him more and more. "It would impossible for you to land another direct hit."

"Why don't we test that out?"

"Gladly," the Frenchman replies, his face stone-cold. In what sounds like a sword being torn from its sheathed, Silver Chariot's form splits apart into eight, each clone ready to strike. Everyone gazes in amazement, and Polnareff's smirk remains as smug as ever. "Well, it seems you're astonished. These are afterimages that my Chariot leaves behind, as your mind and senses cannot comprehend its speed," he explains, tapping his forehead.

With a lunge the afterimages file forward as they begin their assault, one after another, each one swinging its rapier so quickly that Shamira can't keep up. Magician's Red dodges the strikes, just like before, but it looks like it's struggling; Muhammad counters by attempting to bind Silver Chariot, sending a rope of fire from Magi's claws that whips through the air. Yet it does nothing, as the afterimages simply disappear and reappear above Polnareff in formation.

The Frenchman laughs. "I told you that wouldn't be able to follow it," he says. Muhammad ignores him and attempts to use his bind again, but like before it fails. "Striking at random now? You're getting a bit desperate, Avdol…"

"He's right," Kakyoin remarks. "That's only going to waste his energy." Shamira has to bite her tongue so as to not snap at him.

Her uncle releases a burst of ankh-shaped fire at Silver Chariot, and it vanishes as the ankh careens into the ground, the flames twisting around itself before dissipating.

"Non, non, non, non!" Polnareff berates. "That was an afterimage, still you keep trying. Your attacks will not work!" Silver Chariot and its clones rush forward and strike, landing blows directly on Muhammad, the force of which sends him sliding back on his feet.

"Uncle!"

Muhammad grips his shoulder where a particularly deep wound was. "Such precision," he grunts in pain. "You have been training this Stand for quite some time."

"Three years, to be exact," Polnareff proclaims. "Now, enough games. It is your turn, Avdol, and with my next move I will finish you off.

"Despite being an enemy, you have good sportsmanship, Polnareff. You continue to explain your abilities, at the cost of an obvious advantage. Therefore," Muhammad says, wiping blood from his mouth, "It seems only fair I reveal a secret for my own attack."

"Oh?"

"You see, there are variations to my power. While it takes the shape of an ankh, it need not be singular." Muhammad's eyes sharpen. "I can break it apart if I wish. Why don't we try to see how well you can dodge it?" A ring of fire erupts around his feet, swirling around him like hellfire, and he sends out a volley of fire. Polnareff responds by commanding Silver Chariot's afterimages to surround himself like a shield, leaving no opening.

"You waste your time, Avdol! How utterly naive, do you really think I am unable to deflect it back like before?" Just as the afterimages prepare to strike the volley, an ankh explodes from the ground, blasting Polnareff directly and lighting him ablaze.

"As I told you," Muhammad reiterates, "I can split my fire apart however I want." Polnareff attempts to lift himself, but the inferno proves too much and he collapses. Muhammad pulls a dagger from his robes, the blade glinting in the sunlight, and throws it to the scorched man. "Burning to death is a horrifically painful way to leave this world. If you wish, you may use that dagger to take your life," he says, turning away from the Frenchman to return to the others.

Shamira watches as Polnareff grasps the blade, lifting his arm as if he were going to throw it at Muhammad. She stiffens, almost summoning Rose Watcher to protect her uncle, but Polnareff lowers his arm and holds the dagger to his throat instead. Shamira turns her head away. She's seen people die before, but she derives no please in witnessing it. Instead her ears are met with the sound of the dagger clattering against the ground.

"You were right, I was conceited," Polnareff struggles to say, the firing still burning around him. "I didn't respect your power in comparison to mine, and it led to my downfall. You defeated me with your fire, so it only honorable for me to die by it."

Muhammad turns instantly and with a snap of his fingers the fire enveloping Polnareff is gone. Shamira smiles softly.

"Even when faced with death you keep ahold of your chivalry; you could have thrown that dagger when I had my back turned, but you didn't. Despite the orders given to you by Dio, you have still retained your honor." Muhammad kneels by the unconscious man. "You are a better man than he, and it would be a shame to kill you. There must be some reason behind your actions…" he mutters. Hesitantly he parts the hair above Polnareff's forehead, revealing some kind of revolting bundle of flesh. "JoJo!"

"Let's get this done," Jotaro says, summoning his Stand. Shamira realizes this is the first time she's actually seen it before. It towers over Jotaro, massive muscles rippling underneath interlaying shades of purple skin; it has the same face as him, with brighter eyes and an even sharper glare, its hair writhing as if caught in the wind. Its skull is crowned by a metallic headband, its shoulders guarded by golden pauldrons, and a red scarf is wrapped around its neck. It wore little clothing besides a simple loincloth, studded gloves, and boots, and it has to be the most intimidating Stand Shamira has ever laid eyes on.

She watches in awe as it reaches for the alien flesh embedded in Polnareff's forehead, pinching it between two fingers, before it begins to slowly, almost methodically, pull it out. Turns out there's a lot more to the flesh than just what she can see.

Joseph gags. "Those tentacles are gross! Hurry up and get it out, Jotaro, hurry, hurry!"

"Shut up, Jiji," Jotaro grunts, and as more of the _thing_ comes out, the more Shamira finds that she agrees with the old man's response.

"What the fuck is that thing!" Shamira cries out as she recoils away, nearly colliding with Kakyoin in the process.

He smiles at her, evidently amused by her reaction. "It's one of Dio's flesh buds," he explains. "It's how he controls people who are unwilling to work with him." She scrunches her face in disgust and he laughs.

"That thing is nightmare material, Kakyoin."

"I agree, though luckily I've only seen it used twice now."

She raises an eyebrow. "Who had it the first time you saw it?"

"I did." Shamira gawks at him in horror, and she knows she looks silly because he starts laughing again. "Jotaro is the one who got rid of it. He could have died while trying to remove it, but that didn't discourage him from trying."

Shamira turns back to the others just as Jotaro rips the last of the bud out, tossing it into the air where it disintegrates in the sunlight. _Well, it was the flesh of a vampire…_

"Good!" Joseph says. "Now that the flesh bud has been removed, we can be buddies!" He chortles at his joke, causing Jotaro to grunt in annoyance.

"Kakyoin, Shamira," Jotaro calls out, "Don't tell me I'm the only one who gets pissed off when someone makes stupid jokes like that." Both teens smile.

"What, you don't like puns?" Shamira asks. Jotaro sighs.

"I hate them, they're all terrible."

She beams at him. "You just haven't heard any of the good ones yet!"

* * *

As it turns out, the boat Joseph chartered isn't supposed to arrive until the next day.

Which in all honesty is completely fine by Shamira, because it allows her to talk her uncle into going to an actual hospital to get his wounds looked at. After the battle his injuries had, for the most part, ceased bleeding, but the one on his shoulder didn't. Luckily Joseph's ties with the Speedwagon Foundation meant they could get the best medical care money could buy, so by the time his wounds are fully treated, it's barely past noon.

Strangely enough, Polnareff's burns are not very serious. Mostly first degree, with some second degree ones along his shoulders, but Shamira is shocked at how little damage there actually is. Add on the fact that the Joestar elder feels it's necessary to help him, and the Frenchman ends up receiving Foundation level treatment too. Upon asking, the doctors said that, with equipment they used, the burns will be fully healed in about four days. Shamira can't help but wonder why this isn't being shared with the general public.

Polnareff didn't get much of a say about his treatment though, since he was unconscious during most of their time at the hospital. He woke up once, groggy and confused, weakly demanding why they were helping him. Shamira responded with the first thing that came to mind: "It's the right thing to do." All he managed to do was furrow his brow in confusion before passing out again.

Joseph decides it's best to leave him there to recover on his own, and so they leave shortly after the doctors discharge her uncle. Their day ends with Joseph renting out some rooms from a five star hotel, which is where Shamira ends up spending most of her time, specifically with Muhammad while he rests. Because of the events of the Garden battle, Shamira ends up making a promise to herself; she has no intention of obeying any future orders to not get involved during a battle, even if they come from her uncle. She doesn't care if it gets her in trouble, or even if it causes harm to herself; she is there to protect them, to protect him, and she plans on doing that to the best of her ability.

By the time the next day rolls around, they're out of the hotel and at the docks, ready to begin their journey.

"That's the boat the Foundation sent out for us," Joseph starts to explain. "We'll be the only passengers, as everyone else is crew, so we don't have to worry about hurting innocent bystanders."

"Monsieur Joestar."

 _Boy, he just keeps coming back, doesn't he?_

"Polnareff? Was there something else you needed?" Muhammad questions, confused.

"I haven't had the chance to thank you for freeing me from Dio's control, or for giving me medical attention," he says, utterly serious. His neck, shoulders, and arms are wrapped in bandages, with his head being bound by gauze. Every movement he makes produces a pained expression.

"For that, you need to thank Jotaro and Mr. Joestar."

"Don't need it," Jotaro replies. Joseph responds in a similar manner.

Muhammad smiles. "It seems there's no one here to accept your kind thanks."

Polnareff grimaces. "Very well then. I don't like to be pushy, either." He then approaches Joseph, stating he would like to ask him a "odd question".

"What kind of question?" Joseph says.

"Forgive my curiosity, but even while eating you do not take your gloves off. Your left hand wouldn't happen to be a right one, would it?"

Joseph raises an eyebrow. "My left hand, a right one?" he echoes, examining his left hand. "That is indeed an odd question, why do you ask?"

Polnareff's face hardens. It's the most serious Shamira has seen him yet. "I'm looking for the man who murdered my younger sister." Everyone's eyes widen in shock. "I don't know his face, only that he has two right hands," he says. Joseph remains silent for a moment before he begins to pull his glove off, revealing the steel prosthetic limb hidden underneath.

"I lost it in battle fifty years ago," he explains.

Polnareff apologizes, a look of defeat in his eyes. "Please forgive my rudeness."

"If you don't mind, can you tell us what happened?"

The Frenchman sighs, turning to the ocean. "It's been three years now…" he begins. "My sister was walking home from school with a classmate. It was raining, and they traveled along a country road in my native France. On the side of the road, a man stood with his back to them as the rain fell around him like he stood under a glass dome. Just as suddenly as they saw him, her classmate was cut down like wheat to a scythe, and then he…" His voice wavers, and Shamira can hear the pain in his voice as he continues. "He raped and murdered my sister. That was all he wanted. Somehow, her classmate escaped with her life; she said that she didn't see his face, only that he had two right hands." Polnareff glares over his shoulder, and the heartbreak and rage is evident in his eyes. "No one else believed her, but I did, because I think that man may have the same power that I do."

"He definitely sounds like he could be a Stand User," Joseph agrees, holding his chin in thought.

"I swore!" Polnareff growls. "My sister's soul would not be able to rest unless he atoned for his crimes. My Stand will be his retribution. But a year ago, I met Dio. He told me that he could find that man, in exchange for me hunting down and killing you."

"It is partially due to the flesh bud, but Dio's skill at manipulation knows no limits," Muhammad comments.

"According to what you've told us though," Kakyoin considers, "Dio is also looking for this man, probably to join forces with him."

"I've made up my mind!" Polnareff announces. "I'm going with you to Egypt. If you find Dio, I'll find my sister's murderer."

Everyone glances at each other. "What should we do?" Kakyoin asks.

"I have no objections," Muhammad says. Jotaro nods silently.

"You'd probably just follow us, even if we said no," Joseph states. Everyone turns to Shamira, who ducks her head nervously.

"What? Even if I said no, I'd be voted out. He might as well come with us."

Polnareff grins and salutes, though this time it wasn't mockingly like when she had first met him. "It's an honor!"

Jotaro begins to mumble something in Japanese, but he's cut off by a pair of girls that approach the group. They ask if he can take a photo of them, gushing away like schools girls, forcing Shamira to cover her mouth to stop her laughter because he looks incredibly annoyed by them. As he snaps at them to leave him alone, Shamira feels a little bad for the two woman, and then—

—in rides Polnareff on his silver chariot.

"Hey, hey! Let me take your photo for you," he chimes in, ushering them to the edge of the pier as he takes ahold of their camera. When he makes some perverse comment about their legs being nice, Shamira's face instantly morphs into a seething glower. Kakyoin glances at her nervously.

"That was a sudden change of mood," he remarks, though she isn't sure if he's talking about her or the Polnareff.

Joseph snorts. "Looks to me like he thinks with his crotch," he says. Shamira most definitely agrees with that sentiment, however as an aspiring photographer she can't just stand there and let this dick get away with what he's doing. So rather than being a mature adult and simply telling him to stop, she decides to take it a step further.

As she brushes past Jotaro, fuming, she catches him raising an eyebrow at her from the corner of her eye, so she decides, _fuck it_ , she might as well put on a good show, right? Her uncle gives a warning, but she ignores him, instead striding right up to Polnareff. Where she proceeds to lifts her leg up, and kicks him as hard as she can, right in the ass. He lets out the most girlish shriek she's ever heard come from a man before, flinging the camera into the air as he tumbles forward, straight off the pier and directly into the water. The two girls gaze at her in awe, entirely wonder-struck as Shamira catches the camera effortlessly in one hand. She hears Kakyoin burst into laughter behind her, alongside her uncle's tired groan; she swears she caught a chuckle from Jotaro as well.

Shamira turns to the girls with smile, calm and sweet, like she hadn't just kicked a burn victim into the ocean. "Unlike _him_ ," she begins, "I'm actually much more familiar with photography. If you'd like, I can take your pictures for you." The girls blush in embarrassment but happily agree, thanking her for being serious.

Polnareff surfaces just a second later with whine. "What the hell was that for!" he complains. As Shamira snaps a few photos of the smiling tourists, the Frenchman struggles to climb back onto the pier and has to use his literal Silver Chariot to get him back up with the others. By the time he makes it up to them though, the girls are gone; Shamira is standing with her arms crossed, a smug expression on her face. Polnareff glares at her, spits out some curse in French which she can't understand, but it only makes her smirk widen.

"You're lucky I agreed to join you guys, otherwise I'd beat the shit out of you for that!" he screeches at her.

Shamira hmphs loudly, turning away to return to the others. "You can try, but you'll just end up back in the water if you do," she threatens. Whether that's true or not doesn't really matter to her, she mostly says it to make him more angry.

"If you're done…" Joseph says with a funny grin on his face; he looks like he's trying to show disapproval but isn't able to manage it. "We should get going soon, while it's still early."

"Of course," Shamira chirps with a smile. "Lead the way." She rejoins Kakyoin and Jotaro, choosing to walk just slightly ahead of them to keep a wall between she and Polnareff in case he decides for a quick revenge. It's enough to deter him, though every time their eyes meet he sends a nasty glare her way. She doesn't care though; it serves him right for being a pervert like that.

Once they board the ship, introductions and rules are laid out for the crew and group. Shamira scans the harbor and realizes this could be the last time she ever sees Hong Kong again, so she decides to take a photo of the skyline as a memento. A silent way of saying her goodbyes to both the bustling city and the life she had built there.

Shamira hopes she can return in the future, preferably with one less vampire in the world.

That wouldn't be too much to ask for, would it?

* * *

 ** _[1] Jiji is a sort of slang word for "old man" in Japanese (or at least that's what I've gathered through researching it). It's what Jotaro calls Joseph all throughout the show, and since I headcanon that all the Crusaders are polyglots but speak English on the journey to Egypt, I figured it'd be interesting to have Jotaro continue to use it._**

 ** _[2] I am sure you guys know what -san means, but in case you don't; it's a basic Japanese honorific when speaking to someone you just met or don't know very well, etc._**

 ** _[3] Merci mon chérie = Thank you my dear. I want to mention that I don't speak French, so I'm relying on Google for these translations, which means that they might not always be accurate. Sorry. :c_**

 ** _Also uh, I wanted to try and keep injuries a little consistent in this story, because they're not consistent whatsoever in the show and that legitimately annoys me. That's mainly why I included the stuff about Polnareff having burns and him being treated, and because I feel like Old Man Joseph is a nice dude and would probably help him. I was gonna give him more serious burns, bordering on third degree, because obviously being lit on fire is going to do that, but the treatment and care needed for that, even using the SF's contrived medical knowledge, would still be very high. I really have no logical excuse as to why his burns are so minor, because realistically they would be third degree, what with how long he was on fire for, so I'm just gonna say, "plot reasons," and leave it at that._**

 ** _Please review! It helps me grow and I want to know what you readers think of the story so far. P.S. I will not be following a strict updating schedule for this story; I will update when I do, although I'll TRY to do so every two weeks. I can't make any promises though._**

 ** _Until next time~_**


	3. One at the Sail

**_A/N; Remember when I said I would try to update every two weeks? Yeah, that's not gonna happen lol. I am SO sorry this took so long though. This whole chapter involved me writing about stuff I'm not experienced with at all so it was a bit stressful._**

 ** _Still, I hope you all enjoy it._**

* * *

After the ship sets sail from the harbor in Hong Kong, Joseph says it'll take about five days in total to reach Singapore, traveling at 12 knots and with only one stop planned along the way. Shamira figures she can handle this; sure, she might not be very fond of deep water but it's just a boat ride. How hard can it be?

As it turns out, it's a lot harder than she would have thought.

To be fair, the first day doesn't start off that badly. Once everyone is on board, they all go separate ways. Shamira spends most of her with her uncle, who in turn is mostly around Joseph, so it's kind of a win-win for her. They're down in the library, this cramped little room where almost every wall is lined with a shelf , crammed from the floor to the ceiling with books. Besides the bookshelves, only two other objects are in the library; a large round table that lies in the center of the room, and a ratty old sofa wedged off to the side between two shelves. The two men are trying to figure out the best route to take upon reaching Egypt, and while at first it's interesting, Shamira soon begins to tune them out as her attention span wavers. She can't really give much input on their journey, seeing as how she has no experience sailing across the ocean. Instead she snaps a quick picture of them, plops down on the sofa, and pulls out the photo album from her satchel that she almost forgot she even had, where she labels the few photos she has thus far before tucking them into the plastic flaps.

The other guys are doing their own thing. She catches Polnareff wandering around the ship, talking to the sailors about their many voyages, as all of them had been on the sea for years apparently. She's only partially listening to their tales though, because after awhile their nautical-talk reaches areas she just doesn't understand. She hasn't seen Jotaro since boarding the ship; she went below deck with her uncle, while he was still topside, so she figures he found something to distract himself with. _Lucky him_ , Shamira thinks. About an hour later, Kakyoin enters the library, asking the older men what the plan is. Joseph admits, much to his chagrin, that there isn't much of one yet beyond simply reaching Egypt.

"Well, it's only the first day at sea," Kakyoin points out. "There's no immediate rush."

While the old man doesn't look particularly reassured himself, Muhammad instead nods in agreement as both turn back to the map before them. Kakyoin meanders over the nearest bookshelf, where he begins to browse the volumes, skimming across all the titles as he slowly approaches the shelf next to the sofa. He stops, tugs a large blue book from the shelf, then takes a seat next to Shamira. Tilting her to the side, she nearly laughs when she reads the words on the cover.

"Reading a book about boating, while on a boat?"

He responds with a smile. "Seems like now is as good a time as any," he answers.

Shamira chuckles in acknowledgement, and the two teenagers fall into a comfortable silence. She isn't sure when, but at some point she must have dozed off, because when she opens her eyes, Kakyoin and Joseph are gone and her uncle is seated next to her with a large novel in his hands. _Well, that's kind of embarrassing._

Her time with her uncle is short lived though, because when the boredom digs in, it sinks its claws in deep. Shamira finds herself sighing excessively, without even meaning to, and this prompts Muhammad to tell her to explore the ship to find a way to entertain herself.

So she does, or at least she tries to.

The ship is pretty large, but there isn't that much to do on it. Besides the library, there's also the sleeping quarters, which have nothing noteworthy to mention beyond stiff beds. Shamira leaves her satchel on her own bunk, but brings her camera in the hopes that maybe she can get some good shots of something. She passes the bathrooms, then the kitchen and eating area, which where she finds Joseph chatting up the chef. She waves at him, and he returns the gesture as he prattles on about the different kinds of foods one could find in New York City. The chef, a portly, dark skinned man wearing a navy blue turban, nods along with lighthearted laughter.

Onward she continues, only to avoid the entrance to the engine room like the plague. It leads further under the deck, and if she has to be honest, she doesn't like being below the surface of the water, even in a confined area like a ship. When she makes it to the recreational room, she finds Kakyoin alone, reclining on a couch with the boating book still in his hands. Shamira shakes her head with a chuckle before resuming her exploration. At one point in her little adventure, when passing the storage room, she hears an odd noise. It almost sounds like a voice, but she can't quite make it out. When she tries to check it out, her investigation is cut short by a random sailor, who comes out of nowhere to shoo her off. _Little guard dog._ She purses her lips as she heads up top in the hopes that maybe there's something on the deck that can pique her interest.

When she reaches the top of the stairs, she finds the last two members of their group. Jotaro is in the back, lounging on a sun chair with his uniform still on, and Shamira wonders why he's even bothering in the first place. Polnareff is off to the side, fishing and arguing with a nearby sailor in French. At least, she presumes they're arguing, because they're both hollering and making exaggerated gestures with their hands, waving them around like they're directing traffic. She realizes she's never actually gotten a picture of the Frenchman before, seeing as how their initial introduction wasn't exactly the best, so she decides now is a good opportunity. When she calls out his name, he's immediately alert, and with quick fingers and a snap of a camera lens, she produces a photograph of him.

He eyeballs her warily. "What're you doing over there?" he demands.

Shamira snorts. "What's that look for?"

"You kicked me off a pier, you really think I'm over that?"

"You needed a bath," Shamira says calmly, shrugging.

Polnareff scoffs. He points his fingers, the index and middle digits, at his own eyes, then turns them on her. "I've got my eyes on you."

She rolls her own with a stupid grin as she parrots the gesture. "Okay, Polnareff, whatever you say."

Shamira sweeps her gaze across the deck, and she can't imagine there's much else to do until her sights land on a small structure in the middle of the deck. She figures it's the helm, because, well, where else would it be? and decides to check it out since there's not much else she can do. She ascends the steps quickly, peeking through the window on the door only to find that the room is empty.

 _What the hell?_ Shamira hesitates as she opens the door, cautiously entering the room as if she isn't allowed in there. Is she even allowed in there? Probably not. That isn't going to stop her though. Why is no one at the helm? She moves towards the front, scanning the control panels carefully. A compass dial sits next to the wheel, looking more like it's there for the aesthetic and less like it has an actual use, seeing as how the needle is spinning across its axis, not quite managing to settle on south. Shamira examines the room more closely, but she can't find anything particularly odd about it, excluding the fact that no one else is in there. Her eyes land on a wooden container that's bolted to the wall, something she stares at with curiosity. She really shouldn't open it but…

She approaches it slowly, reaching for the clasps at the top before popping them open. As she lowers the lid down, she finds what looks to be some kind of gun nestled inside the black foam interior. It's strange, not like any gun she's ever seen before. She almost mistakes it for a rifle, though it's shaped a lot differently. The barrel is long, except the stock reminds her of a handgun. She tries to reach for it, just to drag her fingers across it, but a hand suddenly grips her shoulder.

"You shouldn't be in here," a loud voice booms, echoing throughout the small room. Shamira squawks in surprise. _Oh, how elegant._

Her head snaps to the side so quickly that it makes her neck hurt. She's met with a heavily built torso covered by a navy blue shirt. As she looks up, Shamira is greeted by the stern face of a man who could only be the captain of the ship. His features are all squared, very wide, with down-turned droopy eyes, tanned skin, a blond mustache and goatee, and hair swept back and tucked under a captain's cap.

"You also shouldn't be trying to touch a weapon like that, little lady," he says.

"Sorry!" Shamira blurts out. He raises a thin eyebrow at her.

"I've been told by some of my men you've been wandering around the ship an awful lot today."

"Sorry…" she repeats, dropping her eyes in shame. _Why did it have to be the captain that caught me?_ "I was just, uh-"

"Exploring?"

She chuckles nervously. "You could say that." The captain _humphs_ , stepping over to the wheel as he taps buttons along the control panels that surround him. "I wasn't thinking about some areas of the ship being off-limits, I apologize for that."

"It's fine, little lady. At least you had enough common sense not to touch anything. Well," he turns to her with a wink, "Almost anything."

She briefly glances back to the weapon case in embarrassment. "So, uh, I thought that someone had to be at the helm of the ship at all times?" she asks. He chuckles through a closed mouth, and yet the sound is so loud it echoes.

"This ship has an auto-pilot function. Normally something like that wouldn't be available beyond military or commercial vessels, but this is a ship built by the Speedwagon Foundation, so—"

"They've got access to some of the best technology out there," she interrupts, though it's a thought she doesn't mean to voice out loud, let alone to interrupt the man. She widens her eyes and tries to apologize again. The captain simply shakes his head in amusement. In an attempt at changing the subject, Shamira tries to focus on the wooden case once more.

"So, what kind of weapon is this?" she asks, pointing to the object.

"Speargun," he responds gruffly. She leans closer to it again, though this time she refrains from touching it. "Common ones are rubberband propelled, cheaper to handle and maintain. They work like a slingshot."

"But this is a Foundation produced variant, isn't it?"

"Naturally. That one right there is air propelled; it'll go a hell of a lot faster, further, and harder than the rubber ones. Good tool for fishing, but not much more than that."

Shamira fiddles with her camera. She want to take a picture of it, but she's not sure if she's allowed to. "Can it be used outside of water?"

"Technically, yes, but you'd regret doing that. They're built with so much force behind a shot that water-drag compensates, but if you go shooting that outside of it, you're more liable to break the gun. And probably your shoulder," the captain explains. While he speaks, Shamira decides to photograph the weapon, because why not? It is pretty damn cool. She figures the captain won't really care either.

She takes a step back to get a better shot of the speargun, but while she's readying her camera, something odd happens. A shiver runs down her spine, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on edge. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps as she inhales sharply. Her gut tells her that she's in danger, and it almost feel like a—

Her eyes dart to the captain in fear, for his well being more than hers, but he's still at the wheel, steering it in silence with a poised stance. He seemed entirely unbothered, and that worries Shamira.

Because she swears she just felt a Stand presence, and it was brimming with nothing but bloodlust.

Shamira lets out a shaky breath, loud enough for the captain to hear her. He glances at her with an odd expression, with what looks like worry woven into the tight wrinkles around his eyes. He clenches his jaw before asking, "Is something wrong?"

"Uh, no, I just, uh…" she stutters, stumbling over her words. _What is wrong with me?_ She scans the room, but sees nothing that would imply there's a Stand inside.

"Did you…?" she begins to ask, hesitation stopping her. The captain tilts his head in confusion.

"Did I…?" he repeats. Shamira mentally kicks herself. _Non-Stand Users aren't going to feel Stand energy, you fucking dumbass._ Again she scans the room, but still she sees nothing that looks threatening. The bloodlust is also gone, just as quickly as a droplet of water would evaporate under the Egyptian sun. A shudder runs down her spine, an afterquake, and she nearly flinches when she catches Rose Watcher looming at her side. She was so on edge that she didn't even realize she brought her Stand out.

"Are you alright, little lady?" the captain questions. He's beginning to look a little agitated, and Shamira takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Her getting wound up like that probably worried the man, which is the last thing she wants to happen.

"Yes, I'm fine!" she tries to reassure him, struggling to hide her uneasiness behind an awkward smile. "Sorry, I'm a little anxious about being on a ship, that's all!"

He narrows his eyes with doubt. "You sure? Seemed awfully panicked there."

"Yeah, don't worry about me, just nerves is all. Um, thanks for telling me about the speargun," she babbles, gesturing to the weapon box with a forced chuckle. "It was really cool. I'm gonna head back down below deck though, check up on my uncle." She backs up to the door slowly, clutching her camera like a lifeline.

The captain grunts. "If you say so." He turns and gives her one last look, one she can't read very well. "You watch your step out there, little lady."

Her smile is stiff, not genuine whatsoever, and she feels he can recognize that. She thanks him again as she quickly exits the room, nearly slamming the door behind her, and she has to take a moment to get herself under control. Was that really a Stand that she just felt? She isn't completely sure. She's only ever come into contact with two openly hostile Stands in her entire life, and one of them was Silver Chariot, so it isn't as if she has a large amount of experience with picking them out. Still…

Shamira takes a deep breath and sighs. She isn't sure what she should do. She knows she should tell Joseph, but… What if she was wrong? What if her anxiety was just making her jumpy? She doesn't want to make the others stay on constant edge for no reason. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she decides to keep her mouth shut.

 _It's nothing,_ she tells herself. _You don't need to be the girl who cries wolf._

* * *

It's by the second day, when the sun has risen well above the horizon, that Shamira quickly comes to the conclusion that anyone who says sailing on a boat is fun is a fucking liar.

"Man, I'm _bored_ ," Polnareff drawls. Shamira feels herself nodding in agreement as she plays with her camera.

"You two have very short attention spans," Kakyoin comments, blue boating book open in his hands.

"Shut up! You've had your nose buried in books ever since we got on this ship," the Frenchman protests, jabbing his finger at the redhead accusingly. He turns on Jotaro. "And all you've been doing is lying around on your ass for the past three days. What the hell, you guys are seventeen and you act like old men!"

Neither boy responds, and Polnareff groans in exasperation. They're on the top deck, near the back by the sun chairs that Jotaro seems glued to. Kakyoin is also seated on one, while Shamira has her back to the main mast of the ship, the one with the crow's nest at the top. Polnareff is slouched against the railing, head propped up by a hand with his mouth pulled into a deep frown. The last time Shamira saw the other two, they were below deck in the kitchen. For awhile, no one says anything. All that can be heard is the waves crashing against the boat, the cries of the seagulls, creaking wood, and the swelling sails.

"That's it, I'm done standing around doing nothing," snaps Polnareff. "Shamira!"

The girl in question jumps, not prepared for him to focus on her so suddenly.

"Do you ever spar with that Stand of yours?" he questions. His tone of voice has an edge to it, like he's implying something.

She raises an eyebrow. "I trained for a bit when I was younger, with my uncle, but my Stand isn't really meant for fighting," she answers.

"Yeah? How long?"

"Uh… six months, I think."

"Six months?" he interjects shrilly. Shamira cringes.

"What's the big deal? It's not like Jotaro has been training his Stand for very long either!" she points out.

"Maybe not, but all Star Platinum does is punch shit. It doesn't take a genius to be able to work a Stand like that," the Frenchman quips. In just a few strides, he's directly in front of Shamira, and he points down at her as a mischievous little gleam sparks up in his eyes. "Come on, I want to know how your Stand works."

"Polnareff…" Kakyoin warns, sitting up straight.

"Relax!" Polnareff says, waving him off. "I just want to try a few rounds of sparring, to see what I'm gonna be working with."

"It's fine, Kakyoin," Shamira states firmly. They both turn to her in surprise, finding she's already on her feet.

"But—"

"It's fine," she repeats. Shamira smirks at Polnareff. "Besides, he does have a point," she says. "We're all going after Dio, so it makes sense we learn how everyone's Stands work. That way we can have better teamwork."

"Hell yeah!" Polnareff whoops with excitement. "See, she gets it! So what about you guys, you game? Or are you just gonna sit there and watch?" Jotaro simply grunts, and Shamira honestly isn't sure what the response is supposed to mean.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to do this on the deck," Kakyoin says. "You might damage something."

"We'll be careful!" Shamira exclaims. The excitement is starting to bubble up again, just like when her uncle and Polnareff had first battled each other in the Tiger Balm Garden. She can feel it, in her stomach, a sort of twisty-turny feeling that makes her skin tingle and her fingers twitch. "You could be like our referee or something, you know, keep an eye on us and make sure Polnareff doesn't slice the mast in half," she says. The Frenchman grumbles under his breath, asking why he'd be the one to do that and not her, but Shamira doesn't pay him any attention.

Kakyoin hesitates, his brow furrowing in reluctance. She bounces up to him, clasping her hands together with a playful smile. "Pleeeeease?" she begs. Shamira can't stop her smile from widening when a soft hue of pink dusts his cheeks, and a moment later Kakyoin pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"Okay, fine—"

"Yes!"

"—But if you two end up destroying the deck, I'm not taking any of the blame."

Shamira cheers happily, quickly dropping her camera down beside him. "Keep an eye on this?" she asks.

"Of course," he nods with a small smile. "With that being said," he adds, glancing at Polnareff as he raises his voice, "We should lay down some rules."

"Ugh, rules," the Frenchman scoffs. "We're just sparring, it's not like we're gonna kill each other. It's more like play fighting than anything else."

"Yes, 'play fighting,'" Kakyoin mimics, quoting the words with his fingers and a sardonic smirk. "Play fighting, with Stands that could potentially injure anyone on this ship."

"My Stand does the opposite of that, Kakyoin. If anyone is going to be injuring anyone, it's probably going to be Polnareff, and probably to himself," Shamira jokes. The Frenchman flips her off for that, a gesture that makes her snort, because had he done that four months ago, she wouldn't have known what it meant.

"You said I would be the referee," Kakyoin directs at her, while Polnareff mutters like a referee just loud enough for them to catch it. "If I'm going to be that, that means I want some rules laid out."

Shamira ignores Polnareff's whining. "List them off then."

"The basics: no attempts at seriously injuring each, and don't strike with the intent to do so. If the person is knocked down, it's an end; if they call stop, it's an end; if they're in any way unable to fight, it's an end. And if anyone draws first blood—"

"It's an end," she finishes.

Kakyoin nods. "Simple."

"And boring," grunts Polnareff. "So, Shamira!" He shoots her a cocky grin when she turns to him. "What was this about your Stand not being a fighter?"

"It's a defensive Stand."

"Right, right, and what was it called again, Flower Catcher?"

Shamira narrows her eyes. "Rose. Watcher," she clarifies, a little too stiffly.

"Hmm, pretty Stand name for a pretty girl," he teases, oh so sure of himself.

Shamira takes a deep breath to calm herself before smiling very sweetly at him. She knows what he's trying to do. Undoubtedly the Frenchman learned very quickly that she isn't fond of flirtatious comments of that degree, seeing as how she kicked him off a pier for them the day before. He probably thinks that teasing her will make her angry, that she's just going to lash out without thinking.

Well, he isn't wrong in thinking it'll make her mad, but in a situation like this, she isn't going to react how he wants.

"Names are part and parcel to a Stand, but its abilities are what really define it," Shamira says as she walks to the other side of the deck, opposite of the Frenchman. Her stomach tightens when she nears the railing, but she tries to ignore it as best she can as she tugs a hairband off her wrist, combing her curly hair back into a very short ponytail.

Polnareff's grin broadens. "Yes, that is very true," he agrees. In a flash, Silver Chariot is out, its armor catching the sun, its rapier pointing directly at her. "But my curiosity is starting to get the better of me. Why not show us what you can do?"

"You're not going to get the kind of fight that you want," she forewarns, chuckling under her breath.

"Oh?"

Shamira shrugs. "Well, like I said, Rose Watcher is a _defensive_ Stand," she repeats as she crosses her arms as Watcher manifests in a shimmer of light. It's not particularly large, barely a few centimeters taller than its User, but like most Stands it is distinct in its appearance.

Intricate armor covers its body, most of which contains detailed engravings, and all of it colored in a metallic shade of rose gold. The head is covered as well, leaving only the mouth and lower jaw visible; a sharp ridge runs along the top of the skull. From the nose and base of the helmet, four feathered horns sweep upwards, linking with a spiked corona that is affixed above the Stand's head. A guard is attached to the neck to protect the mouth, and the breastplate is flat, emblazoned with decals of feathers, and at the center of it rests an image of a winged scarab holding the sun above its head. The stomach is also protected by feather engraved armor, while the pauldrons are molded completely after the scarab's shell. Its elbows are left unguarded, the armor having been previously lost, though it did have gauntlets to protect its hands, containing more images of the feathers and scarab. Layered armor protects its thighs, continuing down into greaves which wrap around the arch of Watcher's feet; the rest of the foot is left bare, all visible skin being an incredibly dark shade of brown that is speckled with small, reflective particles.

A long, scaled skirt flows from its hips, flaring backwards, opened in the front only to be covered by a white, knee length loincloth with a golden ankh sewn into the fabric. Rose Watcher's back, and anywhere else not protected by armor besides its feet and jaw, is lined with black chainmail. Secured to its left arm is a large, golden round shield, with yet another scarab engraving etched into the metal, paired with a golden khopesh that's strapped to a belt, hanging from its waist. Protruding from its back are six massive wings, all nearly 4 meters in length, each feather interchangeably colored with varying shades of blue, green, red, and gold.

Polnareff tilts his head in confusion. "Are you implying it can't fight?" he asks.

"Not like your guys' Stands, but I've never encountered anyone who could break its armor." That statement raises some eyebrows. Shamira even thinks she sees Jotaro glance over in curiosity, though from this distance it's a bit hard to tell.

"I find that hard to believe," says Polnareff. Shamira crosses her arms and plants her feet shoulders width apart, her expression hardening.

"Only one way to find out."

Polnareff bows his head. "Indeed, there is."

He swings his arm forward, and Silver Chariot begins its assault. It dashes towards Rose Watcher, who does not take a shield-stance, even as Chariot begins to drive its rapier forward with precise strikes. The Frenchman's eyes widen when, upon making contact with Watcher's armor, the blows merely glance off. He presses forward, repeating his attacks, but still it does nothing. Rose Watcher remains steadfast, while Shamira's expression does not change. Polnareff continues to attack, again and again, and his composure slowly begins to slip as his frustration builds up.

"Bullshit! There's no way your armor is impenetrable!" he cries out. He turns to Kakyoin, who is sitting with his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together, his eyes narrowed in attentiveness. "You're seeing this shit, right?" he demands.

Shamira sees her chance to move. While Polnareff has his head turned, Silver Chariot ceases its attacks. Shamira makes a note of that as she orders Watcher to strike. The attack is quick, short, a simple snap of the shield as it bashes against Chariot's chest, knocking Polnareff back a few steps. The hit isn't dangerous, probably only leaving him a bit sore, but his pride seems to have taken a much heavier blow.

"What the hell? I wasn't ready!" he complains.

Shamira stares at him incredulity. "Polnareff, _we're sparring_. You shouldn't be taking your eyes off the opponent."

Polnareff turns to Kakyoin for defense, but the redhead shrugs. "Well, you didn't say stop," he points out.

The Frenchman clenches his jaw tightly. "There has to be some faults in the armor, weaknesses, something," he states.

"Well, besides the face and feet, I know of none," Shamira admits. "Since its face is covered though, you would need to strike at very specific angles to damage it. Otherwise, the feet are the only place you could actually get hits in that would affect me." Polnareff frowns in irritation, making Shamira smile sheepishly. "If it makes you feel any better, my uncle couldn't get through it either, though surrounding me with Magi's fire still took the oxygen away, so he was able to defeat me that way."

Polnareff growls. "There's no way it's impenetrable…" he repeats, muttering to himself. Chariot relaunches another flurry of attacks, this time aiming for specific points of Watcher's body. Shamira braces herself in case he strikes her feet, though he seems uninterested in them. She assumes it's because she revealed they are a weak spot, and he more than likely wishes to find a new one. He has Chariot strike multiple areas: the elbows, the knees, gaps in the armor along the sides or on Watcher's back. All hits are met with resistance, as the chainmail still offers a great deal of protection.

One of Chariot's thrusts skim the right side of Watcher's chest, and Shamira sees another chance. She has Watcher drop its right arm, locking the rapier in place as it swipes its shield towards Chariot's face. She tries to put more effort into the strike, because she assumes that Chariot will avoid it. Instead it clips the Stand's helmet. Polnareff grunts in pain, and Shamira releases the blade the moment she sees blood trickle down his forehead.

"Shit! I thought you would dodge that!"

Polnareff snorts in laughter as he touches the wound gingerly. "Looks like that's an end and win for me," he smirks. "Relax though, it isn't that bad. Good strike, but that wasn't a very heavy hit, even if it drew blood."

Shamira frowns with worry. "I did say it isn't a fighting Stand. I can attack with it, but it won't really do a lot of harm in quick bursts." She rubs the back of her neck. "I actually put a lot of force into that hit, but that kinda just shows how it doesn't translate to Watcher very well."

Polnareff hums, but Kakyoin cuts him off before he can respond. "Polnareff, do you mind if I join?" he asks. The Frenchman snorts again.

"Oh, so now you want to fight? Who's gonna be the referee?"

"You'll be, and besides, I'm more invested now," Kakyoin answers simply, rising from the chair.

Polnareff shrugs his massive shoulders and takes the redhead's place, tugging a small kerchief from his pocket to press against his head wound. "Fine by me. Just don't shield bash him too hard, Shamira, he doesn't have armor like we do." She chuckles nervously, and when Kakyoin stands across from her, she can feel her nerves worsen.

"Mind if I ask questions?" Kakyoin says.

"That's part of the learning process, right?"

Kakyoin nods as he brings his Stand out. Shamira has yet to see it, having never previously gained an opportunity. She knows it's named Hierophant Green but… well, she'll admit she isn't expecting it to be so _green_. Its skin consists of membraned patterns that shimmer with an assortment of viridescent tones. It's also lined with textured white armor, mostly along the arms, legs, and shoulders, leaving much of the torso bare. Hierophant's face is guarded by a mouthpiece, a piece that wraps along the jaw to reach what would be the ears, if a Stand even had those, where it seems to carry behind the head and to the crown, ultimately reconnecting with the mouth. It's eyes are strange, yellow in color, but consisting instead of odd oval lens etched with ridges rather than an actual eyeball.

"Armor… but not for protection?" Shamira asks, gesturing to his Stand.

"No, not like yours, though I would say my Hierophant can generally avoid most physical harm rather easily, simply by not being there to receive it."

Shamira hums. "You mentioned questions," she reminds him.

"Yes. The wings, do they protect you as well?"

"They do," Shamira confirms with a nod. "Though they serve a bigger use to allies."

"How so?"

She grins. "Tell you what, let's see who defeats whom in this next sparring match. If you win, I'll answer all your questions."

Kakyoin tilts his head curiously. "And if I lose?"

"I get to be super vague just to annoy you."

He huffs in amusement. "Okay, deal."

They fall into their battle stances, both ready for the other to attack. Shamira takes a few slow steps forward, in the hopes of getting closer. She has no idea what to expect from Hierophant Green; she's never seen it in use, though she knows that it was used to defeat Gray Fly. She doesn't want to be too far away from it, but she also knows she should maintain some degree of distance; when she feels she has reached a good spot, she stops, and it's at that moment that Kakyoin decides to respond. Hierophant's hands move together as a strange, pale slimy substance forms on its palms. Its skin glows a bright green, and then a burst of energy erupts from its palms, firing off like a shotgun.

Shamira drops Rose Watcher to the ground immediately, the impact of its feet as it strikes the deck sending shockwaves up her legs. She commands it to take a defensive shield-stance as its knees hit the wood, and she follows suit, rushing behind Watcher's form. The energy of Hierophant's volley rams into her shield and armor with a _lot_ more strength than she anticipates. She tries to dig her knees into the deck to fight the pushing force of the attack. As she does so, Shamira catches sight of what looks like green gemstones flying past her, and she can't help but wonder if it was really Polnareff they should worry about destroying the deck.

The moment she hears the barrage end, Shamira charges forward in the hopes of getting closer, but Kakyoin fires off another shot that grounds her again. If he's holding back, it certainly doesn't feel like it, especially when one of the emeralds pings off Rose Watcher's helmet, leaving a dull ache on Shamira's own skull. She hears a sound similar to glass cracking, followed by a loud thud and Polnareff's yell of surprise. She can't see him very well though, but she has a feeling she knows what it was directed at. Again the barrage ends, and again Shamira moves forward, only for it to repeat once more.

Except it's further to the side this time, and she realizes Kakyoin has moved at some point during the attack. Shamira tries to lunge for him, but trips over… something. She flings her arms up to stop her fall, but as she does so, she sees an assortment of green tendrils that blanket the ground.

The tendrils snap upwards like a snare net, wrapping around Shamira and Rose Watcher tightly, keeping both stationary and unable to move. Shamira looks up at Kakyoin in shock, her mouth hanging open. _I can't believe it ended so quickly._ The redhead has a thoughtful expression on his face, hand propped under his chin.

"Huh, so binding you does work," He says quietly, almost like he's talking to himself. Shamira simply blinks, dropping her gaze down to the tendrils wrapped around her.

"Uh, yeah, why wouldn't it?" she grunts, testing her restraints. "I didn't know you had a long-range Stand, Kakyoin."

"I didn't know Rose Watcher's wings could reflect projectiles," he shoots backs.

Shamira pales. _Fuck, that's what that sound was._ "I… I didn't hit you with any, did I? I can't really control that."

"Hit _him_?" Polnareff cries out as he cowers behind the sun chair; Jotaro is still lounging behind him, entirely undisturbed by the battle. "You nearly hit _me_! Almost took my damn head off!"

"Sorry!"

"Looks like I win. About those questions…" Kakyoin begins. When Hierophant releases Shamira, the tendrils flowing back to the Stand's body, Kakyoin holds his hand out to her. Shamira shakes her head with a little laugh before she grabs it and is pulled to her feet.

"A deal's a deal. What do you want to know?"

"How do they work?" he asks, pointing to her Stand's wings.

"Straight to the point… Alright. To put it simply, Rose Watcher has the ability to give other Stand Users a certain degree of its armor, at the cost of its own." He gives her a blank look, almost like he doesn't believe her, which makes her raise an eyebrow. "You want me to show you?" she asks with a little grin.

"Definitely," he answers quickly, "I want to see this."

"Great!" Shamira chirps, turning to the others. "Polnareff, come here real quick."

The Frenchman narrows his eyes. "Why…?"

"Because I want to use Silver Chariot in my example."

He flips the sun chair upright as he stands. "Why me? Why not Kakyoin?"

"I'll be using Kakyoin in my example too. You're both going to spar."

The redhead turns to her with wide eyes. "Wait, what?"

Shamira sighs and simply tells Polnareff to hurry up, using the teamwork argument as leverage. As he makes his way over, arms crossed and grumbling, Shamira glances in Jotaro's direction and sees that he's paying full attention, something that reassures her. Smiling, she looks back at the others.

"Okay, so let's begin," she announces, commanding Rose Watcher forward. She swings her hands at Polnareff's arm, landing a punch directly on his shoulder.

"Ow, what the fuck was that for!"

"That was to show a comparison," she says. This time, she reaches for Polnareff's arm, and he flinches away. "I'm not gonna punch you again." He shoots her a disbelieving look, but allows her to place her palm on his shoulder. Two full seconds pass, followed by the muffled sound of glass cracking, and four of the wings on Watcher's back shatter into nothing, feathered shards evaporating into the air. Shamira removes her hand as the two men remain silent.

"Is that it?" Polnareff asks, glancing around in confusion.

"That's it. Bring Silver Chariot out," she orders.

He does so, inspecting the Stand with the same confused expression. "Doesn't really look any different," he says.

"Take the armor off."

"Are you propositioning me, Shamira?"

She gives him the best _are you fucking serious?_ look that she can muster. "Just take the armor off."

He complies, giggling like a little child as he does so, and the armor pops off and fades away to reveal Chariot's robotic skeleton below. Except there's more to it now, something that all three notice right away. A film of sorts covers the Stand's body, like a second layer of skin; it looks like liquid glass, vaguely opalescent in color, churning like molten metal.

"That is what it looks like when I give others armor," Shamira states, pointing. "I've given you 50% of my total armor capacity, which is a lot." Polnareff lifts his palms to examine them, and Shamira answers his question before he even asks. "Yes, it does extend to you as well," she says. She pulls her hand back again and swings at Polnareff, but when her fist lands on his arm, it's like punching a stonewall.

The Frenchman gawks at her. "I barely even felt it that time."

"That's how it works," Shamira shrugs with a smile.

"You said 50%, does that mean you can give all of it?" Kakyoin asks. Shamira shakes her head.

"No. I'll explain. There are six wings total, each working in sets of two. Think of each set as being 25% of a total, which means that all three sets would average out at 75%. The last 25% is Rose Watcher's actual, physical armor that it wears. I can't give that up. I've tried too, but I think it's some kind of fall-back that my Stand has so as to prevent me from being totally defenseless."

Silence follows, something Kakyoin breaks first. "So that means it stacks?" Shamira nods.

"Yep. If I want, I can give someone the full 75%, meaning you'll have a level of defense that's pretty close to mine. Or," she gestures to them all, "I can break it up and give each of you 25%. The armor won't be as powerful, but it'll still be something."

"And you lose your defense by doing this?"

She nods again. "The wings might not seem to do much when they're on Watcher, but they act sort of like a form of reinforcement for its physical armor. When I give sets of wings, it's sort of like I'm… thinning out the armor; the more I give, the weaker it gets."

"But you said no one has ever broken your armor."

"I said I've never encountered anyone who could break my armor, even after giving all the sets away. That doesn't mean I can't be injured after giving them away though. Strikes might not get through and damage Watcher's actual body, that doesn't mean the resulting force isn't something that won't affect me. If Watcher got hit by, shit, I don't know, a car, a large portion of the force behind that strike is still going to go through. Plus, Rose Watcher's armor might protect me, but I don't have armor. I can still be injured myself."

"They just have to get around Rose Watcher," Kakyoin says, staring at her Stand.

"Yes, though it's not like that's impossible. When we sparred, your attacks nearly hit me a few times, that was why I hid behind Watcher. When Polnareff and I sparred, his attacks weren't widespread like that, so I didn't need to worry about it as much."

"You know…" Polnareff begins, commanding his Stand to test its movement. "This could give me a huge advantage in combat, if I remove Chariot's armor. Its speed isn't being hindered at all."

Shamira grins. "That's the idea."

Polnareff's gaze drags away from his own Stand, back to Shamira's, slowly trailing down to Watcher's hip. "I see a sword, but you didn't draw it while fighting me or Kakyoin," he comments. "Why's that? Does it have something to do with the armor?"

"Ah, no," she says. "That's um… That's more of a last resort ability I have."

"Last resort? What's it do?"

"Uh"— _shit_ —"It weakens Stands, when they come into contact with the blade. It's useful, but it's difficult to use properly," she explains. "A-Anyway, you two should start sparring now. The sooner, the better, right?"

Kakyoin gives her a strange look, but before he can say anything, Polnareff cuts him off. "Can I keep Silver Chariot armorless?" he asks.

"You guys are going to have to decide on that," she says. Polnareff turns to Kakyoin, who shrugs at him.

"I've been thinking about ways I could counter it, so I don't see why not."

Polnareff's mouth pulls back into a dark little smirk. "Can I keep Rose Watcher's armor?"

"Hold up, that's not fair!" Kakyoin protests, and the Frenchman cackles in response.

Shamira has to stifle her own laughter. "I'll even it out." She places her hand back on Polnareff's shoulder, and a set of wings reforms upon Rose Watcher's back. The Frenchman pouts as Shamira transfers the set over to Kakyoin.

"I take it the ability relies entirely on physical contact?" a voice asks. All three turn to the speaker in surprise; it was Jotaro, who is now sitting upright, his feet to the ground. When Shamira voices confirmation to his question, he remains silent as he watches.

"Now that the armor has been evened out, is it more fair?" she directs at the other two. Both nod, backing up across the deck to take their positions. Shamira hurries over to the sun chairs, nearly throwing herself down onto the empty one to the side of Jotaro with a little smile. He doesn't return it, instead reaching behind himself to grab something, turning back to hold his large hand out towards her. It's her camera, looking considerably smaller than it usually does, and a little gasp escapes her as she takes it from him. "When did you…?"

"Polnareff almost crushed it when he fell over."

Shamira remains silent for a few seconds. "I… Thank you, Jotaro, I really appreciate—"

A loud curse cuts her off, and both turn back to the sparring opponents to see Silver Chariot dodging all of Hierophant Green's attacks. The cursing came from Kakyoin, who looks like he's having a difficult time dealing with all of Chariot's afterimages. Shamira, admittedly, feels a little bad for him. Going into the spar, he seemed confident, but now he looks like he's legitimately struggling. She notes that Polnareff is more careful though, that he's not pushing anywhere near as hard as he was when he and Uncle Muhammad fought. Now that she's outside the battle, rather than in it, she can also see the tendrils connected to Hierophant's feet spreading out across the deck, slowly but surely weaving together.

"Is that what Kakyoin did with me?" she asks, referring to the trap he was creating. Jotaro nods. "Wow. He had me pinned so badly that I didn't even notice them."

Jotaro laughs this time, a short exhale that she almost misses. "Only reason he's struggling now is because Polnareff knows what he's trying to do. Silver Chariot being armorless doesn't help either.

A heavy thud, followed by a loud grunt, draws their attention back to the sparring match. Kakyoin is sprawled across his back with a pained scowl as Silver Chariot is poised just right above him. The tip of is blade is pressed against his throat, and Polnareff is hanging back by about a meter with a triumphant grin.

"So, looks like I win that one too, huh?" he says, snorting when the redhead's answer is an annoyed groan.

Kakyoin props himself up as Chariot draws its blade away. "Do I even get close to hitting you?" he asks.

"Nope!"

Kakyoin grumbles something that Shamira can't understand, a few words that must have been in Japanese, because she catches Jotaro chuckling under his breath. She raises an eyebrow at him, but he shakes his head instead and rises to his feet. Shamira glances back at the others to see Polnareff dragging Kakyoin to his feet, the latter grimacing.

"I think…" says Kakyoin, pausing to cough, "That Jotaro should participate now."

Polnareff grunts in agreement. "Yeah! That little bastard's just been sitting there doing nothing."

They turn to Jotaro with bated breath, and he curls his lip, sighing. "Fine, only so you guys will shut up about it."

Shamira starts cheering, until Kakyoin says, "You should spar with Shamira."

She stops mid cheer. "What! Why me?" she yells at him. He and Polnareff look at each other, then back at her.

"Because we already went," the two respond at the same time.

"Besides," the redhead adds, "I've already fought Star Platinum, I'm not doing that again any time soon."

She scoffs, sighing in defeat. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" she asks. They move to take their places, and as she passes the redhead and Frenchman, she quickly takes back the armor back that she had given to them earlier, starting with the former. Polnareff tries to tease her about it, asking if she's scared, but she tells him, "Not as scared as you probably would be," which makes him laugh.

Jotaro tugs the brim of his cap down, hiding his eyes. She can't really read his expression that well. His mouth tightens into a flat line as he grunts, asking, vaguely like a question, if the rules are to remain the same.

She nods, and they fall into their battle stances, or at least Shamira does. Jotaro simply stands there, back straight, hands tucked into his pockets, looking more like he's ready to take a stroll somewhere and less like he's preparing to spar with someone. His Star Platinum hovers behind him, indomitable and menacing. It is a Stand that left a significant visual first impression on her; she didn't see it fight, back in Hong Kong, but she did see it remove the flesh bud from Polnareff's forehead. A Stand that is fast, one that is precise. A thing her uncle said was _incredibly powerful_. So it's a bit of an understatement to say that Shamira is nervous as fuck.

Still… She has her confidence. Confidence in Rose Watcher's armor, and confidence in herself. She knows how to protect herself. She might not the best at conventional battle, not even close, and she isn't some kind of powerhouse like the Joestars are famous for, but she's not weak either. She lost to Kakyoin because of a lack of perception, and she lost to Polnareff because she drew blood, but this… maybe this could be a chance to prove she could get some shit done.

Or maybe it would just end with her getting her ass beat.

Shamira grinds her teeth. _No_ , she thinks, drawing her arms to her chest as her fists clench, _I want to take this as far as I can go_.

"Actually," she speaks up, clearing her throat, "Let's not stop at first blood. Only stop at whoever hits the ground first, the hardest." Jotaro raises an eyebrow, curiosity peaking in his eyes, the corner of his lips tugging up just a bit.

"Hey, we don't need any broken bones here," Polnareff cuts in. Kakyoin furrows his brow in concern with a harsh frown.

"I didn't say break bones," Shamira retorts. "I just said that drawing a little blood isn't an immediate end."

Jotaro grunts, harsher this time, but definitely in agreement. "Let's go, then," he says. "You guys can step in if it gets out of hand," he adds on, nodding towards the others. Shamira quickly unbuttons her shirt, slipping it off to reveal her tank top, shoulders, and tattooed arm to the sun. The pale splotches on her chest and neck are a stark contrast to her natural dark skin; she can feel the guys staring, sees their attempts at averting their eyes to avoid being obvious. For the most part, she doesn't care. She's used to the stares, to the questions, and while the attention embarrasses her sometimes, she isn't ashamed of it. It's a part of who she is.

She tosses her shirt to the side, by the sun chairs, as she tries to prepare herself, both mentally and physically. Neither move. Both wait for the other to act first. Shamira takes a deep breath, exhales, then takes another as the muscles in her legs begin to tighten. It was a standstill.

Shamira chooses to act first.

She digs into the deck, pushing the balls of her feet against the wooden surface as hard as she can, and bolts forward with her Stand in front of her, shield raised. Jotaro's shoulders tense, fists clenching as Star Platinum springs in front of him in response. When the first hit lands, she can feel it; _it fucking hurts_. It lands on Rose Watcher's left shoulder, and the sheer force behind it nearly knocks Shamira on her ass. Had Watcher not been a Stand with armor, Shamira was sure her shoulder would have been dislocated. The following punches all flow into each other, almost seamlessly, something she could have admired if she wasn't the punching bag. One after another, more come, moving so quickly, so fast, that she can barely see them. Most hit her shield, making her arm throb, and the few that strike Watcher's body ache from the pain, just with the strength behind them.

And then just as quickly as he'd started, Jotaro stops. Shamira doesn't know why, and frankly, she doesn't care either. Using that pause as her chance to act, she pushes herself forward and resumes her charge. In just two steps, half a second, Rose Watcher is right up in Star Platinum's face, and she commands Watcher to continue forth; its Stand-propelled shield slams into Star's chest with as much force as Shamira can muster. It's not as much as she had hoped, but it's enough to make Jotaro grunt from pain. Star Platinum falls to the left in response as Rose Watcher places the shield between the two Stands to provide a safe opening for Shamira. She darts to Jotaro, as fast as she can, sucking in quick breathes to prepare herself for her attack.

She slams into him with her shoulder, landing the blow directly below his ribs. This time, because she's doing it herself and not through her Stand, her strength behind the hit isn't disturbed in any way. And it's more than enough; Shamira can hear the breath rip itself from his lungs as he stumbles, crumpling over. He doesn't go down though, no, but he clutches his chest and wheezes as he struggles to breath. Shamira follows up with another attack, attempting to clap both sides of his head with her palms. He blocks one of her hands with his free arm, but the other connects with his ear, and a resounding _slap_ echoes across the deck. The hit drops him to his knees, and she can speak from personal experience that the main reason for that is because of the vertigo he is most definitely suffering from.

Shamira attempts to land one more attack, but she's met with a fist to her gut. It's a quick strike that Jotaro gets in before she even realizes it, forcing her back a few steps before she herself falls to her knees. The blow doesn't wind her, but it's still painful. Jotaro drags himself to his feet, clutching his chest with a rather annoyed glare in his eyes. As he steps towards her, Shamira first hears, then actually feels, Star Platinum begin another series of strikes, all of which connect with Watcher's body, pushing it back. When Jotaro stops in front of her, she braces herself, but he doesn't attack. One second passes, then two, three, four, and on the fifth, Star halts its attack, and Jotaro swings at her. Shamira tries to dodge to the right, causing his fist to connect with her sore left shoulder, which nearly knocks her over in the process.

She knows she's in a bad situation. Blood is roaring through her ears, her heart is pounding. Her body is so sore, it feels like she's been hit by a truck. Jotaro has the advantage, standing over her like this, while Star had Watcher preoccupied. She needs to get Rose Watcher back to her, she needs its armor to protect her. She doesn't stand a chance without it, so she does the only thing she can think of. She commands Watcher to jump, plant its feet directly onto Star's chest, and push. The action forces them apart, and with the Stands being only a couple of meters away from the two teenagers, Watcher covers the distance shockingly fast. Except it isn't aiming for Shamira. It's aiming for Jotaro; with the way she'd dodged his attack, it left his back completely open.

He only just manages to look over his shoulder as Rose Watcher reaches him. It swings its shield out in a horizontal slash as it passes him, connecting with the backs of his knees. The attack sweeps his legs out from under him, knocking him flat onto his back. He hits the deck hard, and what air he might have recovered before escapes in a loud, pained gasp. Shamira exhales heavy breaths, sharply inhaling as she pants from the exertion of Rose Watcher performing such an action. That was exhilarating. It had been a solid month since she's fought anyone like that. She grins, so widely, despite her body screaming in protest when she tries to stand. Her knees almost buckle, forcing herself to steady herself, but she's can't help but be proud of herself for managing what she did. There's clapping, followed by a excited whooping, and she turns to see Polnareff rushing towards her.

"Holy fuck, Shamira!" he cries, grabbing her shoulders with enthusiasm; she winces when he grips the left one that had taken so many hits. "I never would've thought you'd manage that!"

"Thanks for the compliment, Polnareff," she grumbles sarcastically. He barks out a laugh and thwacks her back as he moves past, nearly knocking her over. A hand catches her, steadies her, keeping her upright, and she looks up to see it's Kakyoin, who has a very warm smile on his face.

"You did amazing," he murmurs to her. Shamira's ears begin to burn from the praise.

"T-Thanks," she stutters out. She's been praised before, but no one has ever said it like that. "I tried."

Jotaro's groan reaches her. "Did you have to fucking slap me like that?" he demands. Glancing over to him, she sees that Polnareff is crouched beside him, snorting in laughter as he tries to help Jotaro to his feet.

"Bet you've never been hit by a girl like that before, eh, Jotaro?" Polnareff teases, punching Jotaro's arm. The boy scoffs, ignoring the Frenchman's comment in exchange for cradling the side of his head.

"That shit hurts," he hisses.

Shamira chuckles to herself, choosing not to respond, instead making a beeline for the chairs. She scoops her camera up, then scurries back to the others. Grabbing Kakyoin's shoulder, she leans up to him and whispers something into his ear. He shrugs, but nods as he takes her camera from her hands, discreetly. Shamira ambles over to Polnareff's side; Jotaro is leaning against the railing with a cigarette between his lips.

"So, is it over?" she asks. Polnareff snickers.

"For him?" he says, pointing to the boy with the hat. "Probably."

Jotaro turns to his side, blowing clouds of smoke through his nostrils. "Taking a break."

"Something that's warranted, after that last match," Kakyoin throws in, camera no longer in hand. Shamira raises an eyebrow and grins at him.

"What, did I go too far?"

"No, you did a lot better than I thought you would," Jotaro confesses. He scratches the side of his head, grunting in embarrassment. "To be honest, it's been a long time since someone has beaten me in a fight, even before I got Star Platinum."

"That sounded a little painful to admit," she comments, grin widening even more.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to—"

A lens clicking interrupts him, and all four heads snap to the source. Hierophant Green hovers high above them with Shamira's camera in its grasp, its legs tapering off into a single tendril that threads down to its User's feet. The device whirrs and buzzes, spitting out a photograph that slips from the slot. It drifts down slowly, gently spinning in the breeze. Kakyoin plucks the image from the air as it nears him, passing it over to Shamira, who snatches it from his fingers with an ecstatic giggle.

"There," Kakyoin says with an amused expression, letting Hierophant drop the camera into the girl's waiting hands, "I did your dirty work."

Jotaro scowls. "Enough with the damn pictures already," he growls under his breath.

"Killjoy," she throws back, sticking her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes as he turns back to the ocean.

It takes a little over five minutes for Jotaro to finish his cigarette. When he does, he doesn't dispose of it in the ocean, rather he tucks the used filter back into the box. After that, he says he wants to spar with Polnareff, to which the Frenchman laughs nervously but agrees anyway. While they fight, Shamira and Kakyoin relax on the sun chairs; Shamira's entire body is incredibly sore, which mostly just results in her whining quietly to herself that she was going to feel like shit the next day.

The next few hours continues with the four of them all taking turns as they spar. Shamira's mental score consists of only a few more wins, but admittedly a lot more losses. That doesn't bother her too much though. When they decided to try a 2 vs. 2 match at one point, Shamira gives all the armor she could to Polnareff, resulting in a pretty easy win on their part. After that, the majority of the spars were the same, just swapping partners around. In almost all of them, she'd give armor and they'd done considerably well. They didn't always walk away with a win, but the armor helped a lot; even Kakyoin was more offensive than usual.

It was a good day. By the time they decide to call it quits, the sun is just starting to set. It's around this time that Joseph and Uncle Muhammad head topside, both looking rather shocked at why the four are all so haggard and disheveled. Polnareff quickly explains what they'd been doing, and the Joestar elder voices encouragement at the fact they'd chosen to spar, saying he felt it was good for everyone to learn about each other's fighting styles. Muhammad nods in agreement, until his eyes land on Shamira's shoulder. She doesn't even notice how upset he is until he's storming his way over, grabbing her left arm to examine it.

"Shamira, what is this?" he demands. His voice is low, stern, but she can hear it tinged with such a sound of exasperation that it makes her throat tighten. She doesn't even know at first what he's talking about, and it takes a moment for her to see it isn't the bruise that's blossoming across her shoulder that he's staring at, but the ink that's embedded in her skin.

"It's a tattoo," she mutters back as quietly as she can. The others haven't realized yet what was happening, and she wants to keep it that way.

The tattoo isn't a very large one, and it's simplistic at best. The image is of a winged scarab, holding a sun above its head, resting atop an ankh. The ankh itself is centered inside of a blooming lotus, dotted threads hanging from the petals. The tattoo is solid black, with soft stippling shading around the lotus flower, something that stands for a new beginning, a rebirth. The ankh, she'd gotten it because of her uncle, because it was a symbol that matters to him. But the tattoo itself… She got it because it matters to her. The scarab is Khepri, an Egyptian deity. One that Shamira has always admired, for as long as she could remember. So important was he to her, in her childhood especially, that when her Stand first manifested at the age of ten, she found him to be emblazoned upon the armor that adorned Rose Watcher.

"Yes," he hisses, "I can see that. Why do you have a tattoo?"

"Can we not do this right now?"

"I asked you a question."

Shamira clenches her teeth at that. Okay, so, it pisses her off a lot to hear that. Because she knows what's happening right now; she knew he was going to be upset when he saw it, but she was really hoping that it didn't have to happen in front of the others. But it's _her_ tattoo, on _her_ arm. She's going to defend her right to have it, even if the way she got it was through some more illicit ways.

"Fine," she nearly snarls. "I have a tattoo because I wanted one, that's why." Muhammad gives her _the look_ , and she has to fight back a laugh because of how ridiculous the whole situation feels. "Okay, okay, I get that you're mad, but I had reasons for doing it," she adds.

"I'm not angry, Shamira. I'm just—"

"Disappointed?" she cuts in. "There's a new concept."

"I'm not disappointed either, do _not_ put words in my mouth," he mutters, scowling.

Shamira wrenches her arm from his grasp. "Why does it matter? It's a tattoo, not the end of the world."

Muhammad shakes his head. "Where did you even get the money for this?" he asks.

"I worked as waitress, you already know this."

He raises an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe you could afford this, working as waitress, at that small restaurant you were at, while simultaneously having to pay for rent, bills, food, and other necessities?"

This time Shamira does laugh, a sharp sound that escapes her mouth before she can even stop it. "You know, tips can add up," she retorts. _Why does this have to happen right now?_ she wonders. _It's always at the worst possible times._

"Shamira…" Muhammad warns.

"Alright, fine! I worked as a bodyguard for a while, there, now you know. Happy?" By now the others have caught onto the argument that's brewing, and Shamira chews the inside of her cheek in annoyance.

"What kind of a bodyguard?" he questions. "How did you even manage to do that?"

"I used Rose Watcher," she answers, and Muhammad groans in frustration. "It's not like other people could see it!"

"That's not the point, Shamira." He sighs, hand pressed against his temple. "Who did you work for?"

"A man…" she says slowly, trailing off.

"Was he the one you protected?"

"Well, yes, but also his daughter—"

"His daughter!" he cries out. "What kind of man needs to hire a bodyguard to protect his daughter?" Shamira doesn't respond right away, and Muhammad crosses his arms. His entire body just screams _irritated_ , and _angry_ , but mostly, it's just _disappointment_.

"The uh…" she begins. _How am I even supposed to say this?_ She isn't sure how she should tell him. Can she really just say it so simply? Ever since he called her from Japan, asking her to join them, she'd gone over a million and one ways this conversation could go down. She's prepared herself, gave herself mental pep talks, argued with herself about the best possible way to say it, but now? It's a lot harder to just _say it_ , now that she's in front of him.

 _Ah, fuck it._

"The Dragon Head of the 14K Triads is the kind of man who would hire a bodyguard to protect his daughter," she states, cautiously, like every word she's saying is a stick that's poking a slumbering lion. In this situation though, it's less of a lion, more of a short-tempered phoenix.

Muhammad stares at her. The others stare at her. They're all just staring at her. _Take a picture, why don't you,_ she broods, _it'll last longer._

"You joined the Triads?" her uncle asks slowly.

Shamira sighs. "No, Uncle Muhammad, I didn't join the Triads. I was hired by one of them to protect someone else."

"You were hired by the leader to protect his daughter," he repeats. "Do I even want to know who you were protecting her from?"

Shamira throws her hands up in defeat. "Oh, I don't know, other Triad gangs? You know, they don't all get along," she snaps. "Some of them fucking hate each other, to the point where, yes, they would send assassins to kill a little girl, just because she's the daughter of a Dragon Head."

"But that's all you did, right?" he questions.

She furrows her brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, all you did was protect that girl, right? You didn't do anything else for them?"

She sighs again, hanging her head in defeat. "Yes, Uncle, all I was asked to do was protect his daughter. That's it."

"You swear?"

Shamira lifts her head and locks eyes with her uncle. This man, who'd taken her in when she was ten, after she'd… lost her mother. This man, who was there for her before that, when her father died to the Rift Valley fever pandemic that struck Egypt when she was six. This man, who adopted his niece when he was only 23 years old himself, after he nearly took a bullet for her. This man, who'd been there when she needed it most, and never left her side. This man, who had such faith in her abilities that he asked her to join him on a journey to Egypt, to help find and defeat some malevolent monster, a vampire nonetheless.

This man, her uncle, who she loves so much, to the point to where it almost hurts, and who she would do anything to protect, including agreeing to help find and defeat that vampire.

What is she supposed to say?

"I promise."

It's not the first lie she has ever told him, but it is the one that hurts the most.

* * *

 ** _Please review! It helps me grow and I want to know what you readers think of the story so far. I will not be following a strict updating schedule for this story, but I'll try to update as soon as I'm able._**

 ** _Until next time~_**


End file.
